Sweet Science
by fanboymike
Summary: Edward had a simple goal. To become a successful boxer and prove his father wrong. That was until he met Cullen Gyms new Media Consultant Bella Swan. ExB AU AH Mostly canon pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Copyright disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters or anything to do with Twilight, they belong to Stephenie Meyer**. **This is my first fic and as such welcome any and all feedback. If you like what you see (or don't) please review**.

**Sweet Science Chapter 1**

**ONE!**

_The first thing I notice is her smell. _

Not the square bank of thousand-watt fluorescent lights shining in my eyes as I strain to see; one eye starting to swell shut while the other fills with sweat.

Not the prickly irritation of the canvas scratching at me as I roll over onto my knees, only to collapse right back where I started. Not the sound of Marcus thumping the canvas, screaming unintelligibly from my corner. Not my muscles refusing to budge from their dormant state, as the fatigue overwhelms me. Not even the noise of the packed stadium shouting, hopefully feverish in my support. Those all run through my head like a child's flipbook, but not before I notice her smell.

I usually don't notice things like that. I'll obsess to an unhealthy level over all sorts of other details in life; championship reign lengths, training techniques, dieting tips, anything that gets me to my goals. But smells, faces, feelings; tangible sensations never seem to stick. At least, that was life until I met Bella Swan with her indefinable quality that refuses to be ignored. When it comes to her fragrance, it's more remarkable than anything I've ever experienced. I struggle to put it in to words as another waft of her scent overcomes me, but the closest thing I can link it to would be cinnamon and lavender. Well, more like cinnamon, lavender and coffee, which is a surprisingly intoxicating combination. The amount of coffee she drinks surely can't be fit for human consumption.

_Where is that smell coming from? _

_It's a trick of the senses, some kind of phantom smell. _

After the pounding I just took I'm lucky I'm conscious enough to smell anything at all. I honestly believed that I would be able to salvage it, but there's been no call, not even a message. Silence. She's gone and I thought I had started to accept the fact that I'd fucked it all up. Time. Just a little more time and I would have worked it all out. If there is any justice, she won't have contacted Jasper or Carlisle either. It's a small relief knowing that if she's not here, then she's not witnessing my systematic destruction.

_Why am I even thinking about this? _

I need to focus on a more immediate problem. One that will determine not only my own future, but also that of those who have chosen to support me despite some of my more stupid decisions. I just can't shake it, nothing else smells like that but after what happened _why would she be here?_

**TWO!**

_Focus._

That's never been my thing; I'm fast, and hard to keep down, but focus? That's something else. Marcus always lectures that it doesn't matter how long you jump the rope, how hard you work the heavy bag, how many crunches, squat thrusts, pull-ups or push ups you can do, if you can't focus it's over. Go write a book, this isn't for you.

Occasionally in moments of total vanity I've read sports columns that described me as having a lot of 'heart'. Really that's a euphemism for not being up to the task; "good work, at least you gave it a go." Heart is the participation award of boxing. Even Marcus, the anally retentive, emotionally repressed bastard occasionally tells me I "gave it some heart." Well, my heart is doing fuck all for me at the moment. Hasn't for some time now.

If Bella were here now I wonder if she would want me to win. I know my family's thoughts on the matter, but with Bella I find I can't predict anything.

_Come on focus. Focus on what you're good at. Remember the drills. Shut everything else out and stop thinking about Bella Swan!_

If I can get up, use my speed, strategy and all those drills I'm forced through every day, I might be able to outwit him long enough to get in close and land some quick hits. Getting him to back off, even for a few seconds, could put me back in the fight. I know I can't beat him on strength. Every punch has felt like he's hidden knuckle-dusters in his gloves. If it weren't for his lofty sense of moral superiority I might wonder if he was actually doing that. His size and reach is clearly to his advantage he looks like he shouldn't even be in this weight class.

_That's it, think of your footwork, focus on how to beat him. Nothing else matters. Focus on…_

_On…_

_Fuck, how did it come to this?_

I turn my head to the side and see his boots as he shuffles back and forth, keeping warm from his corner while he waits for me to get up.

I know he's certainly not struggling with focus. The one thing he excels at more than anything else is iron determination and concentration. People call him stoic. Distant. Cold. I don't think that's fair; it doesn't even enter into the equation with someone like him. Not that he doesn't worry about what people think. It's just when he's not thinking about training, and about how to win the next fight, he's sleeping. And even then I'm sure it's all he dreams about. He is a focus machine; his only fuel is the next opponent. With the way he's fighting tonight, I guess I gave him enough to work with.

**THREE!**

There it is again. I can definitely smell cinnamon at least, I'm sure of it. Like a cinnamon blended coffee. I've never understood her fascination with coffee; I can't understand why something that smells so extraordinary tastes so sharp and bitter.

_I must be delirious now. _

_Focus is irrelevant. I've already lost._ _I've been knocked out and this is an elaborate fantasy. _

The thought of this not being real is terrifying, almost as much as the thought of it being the opposite. There doesn't seem any way that this _could_ be reality, any of it. Everything is hazy and unreal; I can't make out full sounds. I feel like I'm in an avant-garde expressionist film. Colour seems wrong, proportions are askew and nothing sounds right. It feels like the time she left me. Alone in a hospital bed, it's a scene I dutifully play over and over in my head.

**FOUR!**

Come on pull yourself together! Focus on what's happening right now. What round am I in? How much time is left on the clock? The bell can't save me; I'm going to have to get up. My muscles are shattered, I can barely draw breath, it must be at least be the 8th or 9th round by now, at least I hope it's that late in the bout.

_Why can I smell her?_

It's both frightening and exciting. Dammit… Just _forget_ it. The punishment I'm receiving now will pale in comparison to the stony silence I'll get from Marcus if I don't get back into this fight. Just focus. Picture the look in Carlisle's eyes when he sees you win. Imagine proving to him he's not always right. Come on, get on your feet and land the next punch! That's all that matters: the next punch, and then the next, and the next. Nothing else.

I manage to roll over onto my knees successfully this time. I rock back into a crouching position, tense my quads and stagger to my feet. The momentary exhilaration I feel is short lived as I drop back to the mat. Shit, if I can't even stand, this is over and I'll be damned if I let that happen.

I will win this fight; I refuse to let Carlisle have this over me. I know he still resents me for leaving his gym. He told me that I need another three or four years of 'seasoning,' for a match up like this, that I should focus my attention on endeavors more worthy of my talents. Bullshit. He won't be proven right. Not today.

**FIVE!**

_This is it. Ready the muscles, push and get up! _

I finally make it to my feet. If I hit the canvas again I'll be starting that novelist career Marcus taunts me with. I can just make out the ref's mouth moving up and down as he starts the standing eight count. The next eight seconds pass in a flash, my ears feel like I've done a hundred laps in the pool without earplugs.

I can't stand swimming. Wait, the ref says something I can't make out. I can only assume he's checking if I'm ok to continue, I give as definitive a nod as I can manage and hope that fools him while I try to prepare for the next onslaught. Going to the judge's decision or a TKO isn't going to cut it, there is no way I'm letting this fight get stopped by anything short of a complete knock out.

The ref grabs my gloves and yells, _continue_. I tentatively move to the center of the ring, my mind racing to decide what to do, hoping my opponent can't see my indecision. It takes less than a fraction of a second before I'm welcomed back with a jab that lands just below my left eye. The punch finishes the swelling and I know I won't be seeing anything else out of that eye for the remainder of the bout. My chin catches the second half of the combo and I barely make out the right side of his waist contracting slightly as he shifts back to deliver the next cross. I shift my weight to match and try to beat him to it with a quick right led double-jab cross.

Too slow, he moves with incredible speed landing three solid jabs of his own, my muscles can't respond quickly enough and he's already changed tactics. I feel the piercing pain of my ribs cracking as a solo uppercut lands above the waist. All the air rushes out of my lungs, I'm certain it's the same ribs that cracked eight months ago. I desperately move in for a clinch to give me a second to think, but as I try to wrap my arms around his, again I'm proven too slow. He steps back, effortlessly slides to the left, moves in and I feel the full force of a left jab and right hook. I stagger back, steady my legs and blindly lurch forward with a quick hook that gets deflected by his shoulder. I retreat back towards the ropes, a tactic Marcus won't praise me for, trying to catch my breath and think about what to do. My entire midsection screams every time I try to move, how can I hope to recover from this?

_That smell, so distracting but almost welcome now._

_Shit! Where has he gone?_

He's on top of me again, unrelentingly moving forward, forcing me around the ring, and giving me no chance to strategize a way out of the situation. I deflect his next punch but catch a smaller blow just under the collarbone while still retreating back. I'm almost on the ropes as I try a sharp side step and dart in, miraculously landing two weak hits. The pain in my ribs has taken any substance out of my blows and he knows it, letting them land deliberately, returning the favor with two weightier hits of his own. He leans forward and lands an unusual uppercut combo; I don't have time to marvel at his sudden change into unorthodox boxing as I feel another strike out of nowhere.

As it connects I can barely form the words to describe the feeling that comes over me. I feebly attempt to raise my hands to stop any more of the onslaught. Before he gets the chance to finish the job my legs give out and I fall back, tangling myself in the ropes. Momentarily suspended there, I'm unsure if I'll be able raise my arms again to defend myself. If that's the case, the ref will have no choice but to stop the fight. White haze envelops what's left of my vision as I fall out of the ropes and am reunited with the canvas.

_This is impossible._

I assume the count has started but I don't hear it, all I can think about is what led me to this moment and wonder how I could possibly not have seen it coming. I must have let my ego get out of control to think that I could compete with him. He's lightning swift on his feet, relentless on the attack and each punch is unforgiving. Then again, I should have expected nothing less from my brother.

Time becomes meaningless as I finally lose consciousness, letting my thoughts wander at will. The last thing I notice is the smell of cinnamon.

**A/N Next chapter we jump back two years. In fact, all subsequent chapters until the last will be flashback and are a bit longer than this chapter too**. **Please review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N In this chapter we delve into the back-story, with the boxing action taking a back seat for a while. In ring business returns in Chapter 4.**

**I stupidly forgot to thank my beta in my first chapter's A/N, so here we go: thank you to my wonderful beta TheRedFairy (find her on twitter at therealredfairy) for her awesome skills and expert use of the track changes function of MS word :-) I also wanted to thank everyone who took the time to read chapter one and an even bigger thanks to those who left a review. Finally thanks to insanely talented and generous TheBlackArrow for tweeting the link and to all of those who did the same.**

**Not sure if its useful but I've put a glossary at the end in case any boxing terminology is hard to work out.**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Two years ago.**

I never felt at ease in Carlisle's office. I don't know if it was the floor to ceiling glass windows, designed to give him a clear view of everything that happened in the gym but also offering no privacy, or the imposing oak desk that currently separated us. More likely it was the fact that it was the location of our latest argument, something that had been increasing in both intensity and regularity lately.

I stood there now, arms folded, trying to get my father to see reason.

"I won't go through this with you again Edward." Carlisle pushed back from his desk, clearly not happy to being distracted from the stacks of papers, piled with Jenga-like precision in front of him.

"At least consider it," I demanded. I refused to plead with him of all people. Determination, persistence, a steadfast refusal to give up; these were all admiral qualities for a boxer, but Carlisle was not a boxer, nor had he ever been.

I could feel my jaw tightening with frustration as he pinched the bridge of his nose in obvious irritation, his glasses almost sliding off in the process. "You know I don't have time to discuss this right now." I wondered why he didn't just tell me to fuck off; he'd spent most of this argument looking like he wanted to. There were always more important uses for his time, right now he was giving this argument the barest amount of his attention possible.

"Then make time!" I slammed my hand down on the table, forcing him to look up, incredulous at his dismissal. "It's been eleven months since my last fight."

"Are you worried that I'm not up to scratch? That I might tarnish the _family_ name?" I began to become aware that as my voice was getting louder, the usual hubbub of sparring and training from the gym below was doing the opposite, replaced by a silence that was eerie in a place built for activity. Another thought found it's way into my mind through the haze of anger; she would be down there somewhere, witnessing this. I didn't care. I needed to try this one more time.

Carlisle sighed, slumping back, almost disappearing into his ornate high backed leather chair. "Enough of the dramatics, Edward."

At least I had drawn his attention away from his paperwork.

I forced myself to calm down, considering my next move. Carlisle stood up for the first time since I entered his office, looking at me expectantly, like this conversation was over.

We'd played this out so many times before, always the same outcome; back to training I would go like the dutiful son. Not this time. I felt I needed to give him one final chance.

"Then tell me what the problem is, what's stopping you from booking me in another fight?"

"Where do I begin...?" It took me a moment to realize that in fact he wasn't going to, as he pulled his glasses off, rubbing at his eyes. I wasn't the only one being dramatic.

"But Emmett-"

"There's no comparison." Carlisle cut in brusquely waving his hands wildly, dismissive, almost toppling one of his perfectly stacked piles of folders. Finally. I suppressed a triumphant smile as I realized I was starting to get to him. "Emmett worked for years to reach his title win. You on the other hand…"

He hesitated, avoiding taking that thought any further by turning away. I wasn't going to give up so easily. "_Me_ on the other hand?" I pushed, forcing him to finish what he started. I waited, fists clenched, for some kind of explanation.

Carlisle didn't answer for a moment, his attention now on the only other item of significance in his office; a small painting in a simple black metal frame hanging on the wall [lken1] behind his desk. I always tried to ignore it and the feelings it stirred in me, hating that it was in his office at all. It was nothing to me but a constant reminder of anger, disappointment and despair.

"Boxing isn't for everyone, Edward." He turned back to face me, his expression unreadable but no longer irritated. "And with your particular skill set…" He paused again toying absently with his glasses.

I pushed aside any uncertainty I felt at this sudden shift in his demeanor. This time I wasn't interested in his bullshit.

"My _skill set_?" All traces of the calm I had been working gone, my ever present frustration springing back again to my defense. "I made it to the finals of the Golden Gloves tournament when I was an amateur _and_ I won my first professional bout." I knew I didn't need to justify myself, but Carlisle had a knack for bringing out the worst in me.

"No, you lost the Golden Gloves final and only won your first professional outing by a judges split decision. Don't get ahead of yourself." That fight was my _only_ professional fight to date. I was worried that if I didn't get put in another match soon, I would be retiring with an impressive 1-0 record.

"How can I get ahead of myself if I'm never given a chance? You don't seem to have any kind of problem booking Jasper and Emmett in fights, so why me?" Jasper was a particularly baffling comparison; his fighting style was so erratic his WBC ranking was going up and down like a game of chutes and ladders.

"Regardless of how you feel about your brothers' careers, Emmett is the one who won the title. You can at least make an effort to support him. We have the press in today and you know how important it is to make a good impression with them."

I fought not to wince at the reference. I knew only too well how important the press was.

"Why do you even want me at this thing?" I tugged listlessly at my hair, and finally gave up; there was no point in arguing with him anymore.

"You're a Cullen and if you _insist_ on following this career then you _will_ be seen with us for the press."

"It's hard to call it a career if you won't put me in another fight." I felt like a child pleading to stay up past his bedtime.

"I think we're done here, Edward." The businessman had returned. "Don't you have a training schedule to get back to?" And with that I found myself unresolved and on the treadmill, trying to burn through my anger while waiting for Carlisle's precious Cullen Gym open day to start.

As I tried to clear my head, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing, I was consumed with thoughts of two things. Carlisle Cullen and Bella Swan.

Two people I would prefer didn't share the same headspace.

Besides my career concerns, a series of events over the last few days had built up another problem. One far more attractive and exciting, although just as entwined with Carlisle and the hold he seemed to have over my life.

It had started the day Victoria quit.

Up until the day she stormed out, Victoria had held the record for longest time working as Media Consultant for Cullen Gyms, a staggering 18 months. While she was skilled at navigating the tricky media obligations of the gym, she was too uptight to handle the personalities that went with it. I also think she hated me, I had nothing to base that opinion on, just a feeling. She always managed a welcoming smile for Jasper, most women do, but for me it was always a look somewhere between bored indifference and thinly veiled scorn. Jasper used to delight in teasing me about her secret attraction to me, what she would do when she got me alone, but that was just Jasper being an ass.

Apart from masking her disdain for me, one of Victoria's challenges in the role had been to crack the shell of chronic shyness around my eldest brother Emmett. Many media reps had tried to make him appear more than just a muscular automaton; but so far no one had managed to see past his robotic responses and determined exterior. Those of us who knew him best understood his issues, I certainly related to it, but to the people that came to watch him fight he came across as distant.

But the bigger problem for Victoria was that it's rare to find anyone who can successfully manage working for prolonged periods of time with Carlisle. How Alice had managed to be his personal assistant for the last five years was beyond my understanding. Perhaps he had something over her. The only times I saw Victoria without a mobile phone attached to her ear, being harried by media, was when she was sitting in Carlisle's office as he paced back and forth, most likely delivering his latest sermon on how great his empire is and how that message should be delivered to the people. It made me jealous to think how easy she made leaving look. One day she just slammed the door of my father's office in his face, stalked across the gym, paused to slip a note in Jaspers pocket, glance at me over his shoulder, and was gone. Alice told me all Carlisle had to say on the matter was "put an ad out, I want to see at least a hundred resumes on my desk by the end of the week."

It was typical of the all business, hard-edged Carlisle that my father seemed to have become.

I was in the gym working on my conditioning on the morning of the interviews. Alternating between rounds of skipping, shadow boxing and bag work, I watched as a parade of professional young men and woman filed into my father's office in perfectly timed 15 minute intervals.

Not one person was in the office for more than their allocated time and each left with the same look of startled bewilderment on their face. The only other thing that stood out about each of them was exactly how much they, in fact, didn't stand out. Each was a minor variation on the last, as if produced from some Public Relations mold, and by the looks of it none had made any impression on my father. As I finished my conditioning, I watched as the latest face shuffled out of Carlisle's office and couldn't help but notice the next in line, as she confidently navigated the absurdly steep steps up to the office for her interview.

Carlisle's office overlooks the entire expanse that is the Cullen Gym and, as with everything else in his carefully controlled life, was planned by him down to the last detail. The steepness of the steps was no accident of design, rather a prominent display of his 'individuality'. Looking at the design of the Cullen Gym, everything you need to know about Carlisle's personality is at the forefront. Each day he bounds up those steps two at a time while most of his staff have to struggle to make it up there at all.

The thing that struck me about this particular woman, whom I had begun to openly stare at, was that unlike all of those before her, she didn't struggle at all with the steps.

What was even more impressive was the fact that she was doing it in what looked like three-inch heels, while juggling several folders. And a coffee.

It was more than just her confidence I found so striking. She was a bombardment of subtle yet spectacular details, all jostling for attention in my mind; her just below the neckline dark auburn hair settling around her face with just a hint of curl, no fake dye job, or an over abundance of product, the fact that unlike so many of the women before her she wasn't wearing any scarves or jewelry and if she had any makeup on at all, it was unbelievably well hidden. She looked about 5"6 with a slight athletic build; I hate that gaunt supermodel look. As she reached the top of the stairs she made one last sweeping glance of the gym and the most stunning deep chocolate brown eyes, hidden behind her retro oval shaped thick rimmed glasses, could be glimpsed for a moment before sliding past, leaving me standing there unseen, frozen in place.

She turned and walked into Carlisle's office, snapping the door shut decisively behind her. I stood there, watching the space she had just vacated, trying to process all those tiny details, and what they were doing to me.

Having conquered the steps with ease was one thing, surviving a job interview with Carlisle would have been far more challenging. Not that he would have ever said it, but I'm sure that Victoria's sudden resignation bothered him, especially in light of the increased media attention since Emmett won the title. Once an almost embarrassing amount of time had passed with me just standing motionless, skipping rope in hand, I decided to do another 15-minute set rather than relinquish my spot on the gym floor with a decent view of the office. I watched in fascination, trying to catch any glimpse of her that I could, cataloging every detail about this stunning woman as she attempted the unlikely mission of impressing my father.

At the end of her allocated time, she made her way down the steps with the same amount of effortless grace that she went up with and I immediately panicked.

What if I _did_ never see her again? What if this _was_ the one person for me?

As a dozen fanciful romantic scenarios played through my head, I suddenly found myself sprinting across the gym floor to the bottom of those stupid stairs. As soon as I got there I realized I had nothing to say, anything I could have come up with on the spot surely would have come off as either weird, sleazy, or an awkward combination of both.

It wouldn't have mattered anyway, because nothing could have prepared me for the feel of actual proximity to her as she came down the stairs and into my field of vision. I had never had such a strong reaction to someone's presence. Up close, her dark eyes showed flecks of gold hidden from a distance behind her glasses. And her _scent_. It was a heady combination of cinnamon and coffee that rendered me speechless.

And so, as she reached the bottom step and turned to leave the gym, I came up with the best option the scenario presented – I stood, mouth open, wild eyed and sweaty and literally watched her walk right by. If she did happen to notice me she did a superb job of hiding it.

Luckily I was given a second opportunity to recover from that first pathetic attempt. Later that day I overheard my father telling Alice that he was only inviting one of the candidates back and this time for a full hour long interview. I couldn't know for sure but I prayed he was talking about _her. _Through my excitement I felt a momentary flash of pity for her. I was sure Carlisle had prepared a grilling worthy of someone in front of a grand jury tribunal and hoped that wouldn't scare her away.

Though I didn't know how, I knew I at least _wanted_ to talk to her and that this new obsession was a welcome addition to the usual things I let consume my daily thoughts.

On the day of the second interview I made sure to repeat the same workout routine so I could get a clear view of what was going on in my father's office. Luckily no one questioned why I'd suddenly disrupted my usual Friday training. Not that it mattered, the plan was a complete failure; all I could see this time was the back of her head and a lot of paper shuffling.

I moved on to my next plan, which consisted of positioning myself at the bottom of the stairs at the end of her interview, a towel draped casually around my neck as I drank form my water bottle, as if I just happened to have stopped there for a second to rest. This plan met with as much success as the last one, as she brushed hurriedly past on her way out, leaving traces of perfume in her wake.

I made a vow to myself that I would do anything to get on her radar.

I was still staring blankly at the space Bella had recently occupied when I heard the sound of heels on wooden steps and the shuffle of papers behind me. "What are you doing?" Alice asked suspiciously.

"Just taking a break." I replied hoping she wouldn't delve any further. "Who was that?"

"Bella Swan." _Bella._ Even her name was fascinating, I savored the sound of it, wondering if it was short for something, Isabella or Annabella perhaps?

"That was her second interview?" I tried fishing for more info while making a feeble attempt to look occupied with my water bottle.

"Carlisle's going to hire her." If anyone knew what my father was going to do next it was Alice.

"What's she like?" I asked, realizing a little too eagerly, as Alice instantly smiled. Who did I think I was kidding?

"This is new for you hon, why the sudden interest?" It was new for me. I couldn't understand where this intense attraction to Bella Swan was coming from, but I wasn't about to explore the issue with Alice.

"When does she start?" All pretense of being disinterested now abandoned.

"Monday. Carlisle is planning to hold a press conference that morning." Alice said, her focus shifting to the open folder of paperwork resting in her hands, all business now. "He's taking a group of journalists through the gym and there's going to be a round table discussion and interview session after."

I tried to ignore my growing sense of hopelessness.

"Oh and maybe a few photos. Carlisle wants you there for all of it."

Oh great, I thought. I could see it now; I was going to be wheeled out for display. All the journalists would ask the usual questions, the articles already pre-written in their heads about the younger brother trying so hard to follow in his big brothers' footsteps.

If only they knew that I wasn't being given the chance to fulfill that cliché.

"Don't over think it Edward, it'll be fine." Alice said shutting the folder decisively and jolting my attention back to her. "Think of it another way. It'll be Bella's first day. You can be there to give some encouragement and show her the ropes…." I ignored her pun and admittedly cute, self-satisfied smile and went home to indulge in some intense self-absorption.

I was beginning to formulate a plan that would solve both the Bella and Carlisle problems in one go.

And so on the morning of the open day, having had a blow up with my father that had only justified the plan I'd hastily concocted over a weekend of obsessing about a woman I didn't know, and a father I knew only too well, I finished my workout and headed to the change rooms. I still hadn't finalized the finer details of my plan or how I was going to talk to Bella when that inevitably happened, just that something in my life desperately needed to change.

On my way to the change rooms I noticed the distinctive sound of someone hammering a heavy bag ring out. I looked over to the two banks of heavy bags and saw Jasper thumping away with more enthusiasm than usual. Typical for him, his form was erratic and wasteful, no care for footwork, I was surprised he wasn't damaging himself. I briefly considered going over to offer some advice, which he would have hated, when it suddenly dawned on me what he was actually doing. Wearing a torso hugging white singlet, with his actual match trunks on, he was doing a quick workout to get the blood flowing and make sure his muscles were as pumped up as possible for the press. I wasn't sure what made me more angry, the fact that I wished that I'd thought of doing a pre-press weight workout or that he could pull off the singlet look with such ease.

I wondered if he'd talked much with Bella yet. That was a ticking clock to worry about another time.

Trying to put Jasper out of my mind, I quickly scanned the gym for any signs of Emmett. Unusually, he wasn't training anywhere in the gym. Instead I saw Bella Swan armed with clipboard and coffee, striding intently towards me, apparently free of any first day jitters. The sight of her sent a shock through me. I had spent two days thinking about this moment but assumed I wouldn't have to talk to her until after the press conference.

I busied myself rubbing a towel across the back of my neck, providing the cover I needed to watch her covertly from the corner of my eye. She wasn't wearing her glasses and the look of resolute determination in her eyes was extraordinarily attractive. Just seeing her made me momentarily reconsider me plans, but that would have meant continuing along the current path of putting up with Carlisle and everything that came with it. Chances are in that scenario I would never know Bella Swan beyond having her witness my constant battles with Carlisle. As she was about to reach me, I braced myself for conversation, hesitated, then pretended I didn't see her and ducked hastily into the men's change rooms.

Unfortunately that could only shelter me from embarrassing myself until the press conference started.

As the murmur of voices and feet clattering around the wooden gym floor slowly filtered through the change rooms, I took a deep breath, reassured myself that what I wanted to do was the _only_ course of action, and went out to join the circus.

Emmett stood arms folded and face expressionless next to Jasper, whose eyes were scanning the room intently, assessing the small crowd of people before him. When his eyes met mine he gave me a quick wink. He was in his element. There were about 15 print and TV journalists assembled, all having turned up to have a look at the inner sanctum of Carlisle Cullen, now all smiles and good humor for the press. I wondered how he had decided who got the golden tickets to this event.

I was distracted from my thoughts as Bella stepped forward, instantly attracting the attention of the room. "Welcome to the Cullen Gym. For those of you who have never been here before, let me give you a brief history while showing you around our state of the art facilities."

This was going to be a long morning.

Bella motioned for us to follow her as she started the tour. "The Cullen Gyms were founded by Thomas Cullen when he retired from professional boxing after losing his fourth World Welterweight title in 1972. Twenty years later his son Carlisle took over the family business and ushered in a new age of expansion, taking the business from just one location to a global enterprise of more than 50 gyms worldwide. Today, Mr Cullen runs his business from right here, the first and original gym with which his father started the company.

"All Cullen Gyms are regularly refurbished keeping them on the cutting edge of sporting technology. All of the trainers, doctors and therapists that Mr Cullen employs are state certified, fully trained professionals in their field." Carlisle would want that on the record. It was not a requirement to have any formal training to be a cut man and administer aid in a boxer's corner during a fight and Carlisle had always hated that.

I tuned out of the sermon for a while, instead admiring how at ease Bella seemed with all of this, as I trailed along behind her. She stood posture perfect, flipping to the next page of notes she had in the clipboard resting on one arm. Although the clipboard had a wad of paper in it, I hadn't seen her directly read from any of it yet. We stopped in front of the cardio area as Bella began championing the variety of apparatus we had for training. The crowd marveled at the equipment, I stared at Bella's left hand gently tapping her clipboard in a rhythm of concentration, the sweep of her hair across her narrow shoulder as she turned to speak. Her audience nodded appreciatively as she paused for dramatic effect, before moving on to the next talking point.

I stood there an indefinable time, letting her voice wash over me, until I was forced back to reality by the movement of the crowd to the next part of the gym. I went to shuffle after them but paused, realizing that Bella hadn't yet moved to follow. Instead, _she_ was watching _me_. My breath caught, I wanted so badly to turn and make eye contact, but then she was back in control of the group, intently focused on her work, so quickly I had already begun to doubt what I'd seen.

"Mr. Cullen represents the best boxers both established and up and coming." I started paying attention. "Cullen Gyms helps aspiring boxers through scholarships and training paths that lead them from amateur bouts and Olympic training through to professional matches. The Cullen legacy continues today through his three sons, all boxers. Emmett, the eldest, is the newly crowned WBC Middleweight Champion of the World and is undefeated at 14-0 with an impressive tally of 12 knockouts. Jasper Cullen has won more than twelve fights and is currently ranked fourth in the same weight class as his older brother."

Bella had carefully skirted around the fact that although Jasper had indeed won twelve fights, he had also lost six, not a good ratio. I was anxiously waiting to hear what Bella had to say about me.

"And Edward Cullen, the youngest of the family, was a finalist in the National Golden Gloves Tournament."

The sheer excitement of having heard her say my name out loud distracted me for a moment from the fact that that was all she had to say about me. Technically I was undefeated too, surely that was worth a mention. I didn't have time to dwell on the point, as we were already back where the tour had started and Bella was coming to the end of her lecture.

"We'll now open it up for any questions you would like to ask before leaving you to take photos and shoot B-Roll footage of the gym." Looking around the gym, I realized that at some point during the tour it had filled up with people training. A chorus of gruff trainers' voices were now singing out around the gym and it dawned on me that Carlisle must have carefully choreographed the entire event.

Or it just so happened that all the best-ranked fighters the gym represented had chosen to work out at the same time.

The journalists opened up the questioning with the usual stock standard inquiries people have about my father; what were his plans for further expansion, why didn't he ever put on the gloves himself etc, before moving on to who Emmett planned on fighting next. Emmett himself didn't answer any of the questions, allowing for Bella to reply with official responses. When Jasper was asked about his fighting style and why his win-loss record was patchy he either deflected the questions offhandedly or in the case of the few female journalists, flirted brazenly with them. It never ceased to amaze me how it always worked, he never once actually answered the question he was asked.

Eventually they got around to me.

"Edward, do you train a lot with your brothers and do you hope you might face them in the ring one day?" Asked a young print journalist, camera around his neck. Very Jimmy Olsen.

"Sure." I replied letting them read whatever they liked into that.

"When's your next fight?" the same reporter asked.

I hesitated. "Well..."

I hadn't planned exactly how and when I was going to say what I'd prepared, but... "Actually, now is probably a good time to announce that I don't have any fights currently planned but I hope to soon, and-"

I looked at my father, holder of the best poker face in existence and Bella standing calmly beside him, flicking through the papers on her clipboard, eyes pure concentration. I longed to feel those eyes study me with that kind of intensity, to look back at her in the same way. With that in mind I decided there was never going to be a better time to pull the trigger than now, so I just said it.

"As of today, I'm leaving the representation of Cullen Gyms to pursue my boxing career independent of my family."

Bella stopped flicking through her papers, her head snapping up in shock, and our eyes officially met for the first time.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

**A/N Glossary:**

**Heavy bag:** Pretty much what it says it is. It's those bags that generally hang from the ceiling and are used to develop hard punching strength.

**Speed bag:** The small bags used for rhythm and speed training.

**Cut man:** The person responsible for the boxer's health in a fight, he is usually in the fighter's corner with the trainer (although he is sometimes the same person). A fight can be stopped if a fighter excessively bleeding so the cut man is _very_ important. He uses a variety of tools (cold presses, petroleum jelly etc.) to decrease blood flow to swollen areas, and reduce the chances of a cut happening.

**Conditioning Training:** What Edward is doing when he first sees Bella. Its basically explosive cardio workouts designed to increase endurance. Doing short sets of different exercises to mimic the work to rest ratio of a fight.

**The difference between pro and amateur boxing:**

**Amateur:** The boxers must wear headgear and a sleeveless shirt. The fights are shorter, usually 3x3 minute rounds with 1-minute breaks between round. There is a specific scoring system I won't get into, but more often matches go all three rounds and are decided on points rather than the fight being stopped by a knockout.

**Pro Boxing:** Must be bare-chested, no headgear allowed. Fights are usually 10 or 12 3-minute rounds (with 1 minute breaks) but lower ranked or less important fighters often compete in shorter fights.

Fights can end in a variety of ways:

- A fighter gets knocked down and can't answer the 10 count (KO).

- A technical knockout happens when a fighter is deemed unable to continue by the referee (it's a judgment call made for the safety of the fighter).

- If at the end of the allotted round limit both fighters are still on their feet it goes down to the judges decision.

**B-roll footage:** the stuff cameramen shoot on location etc. as footage to overlay a reporter's piece in an interview or news segment.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Thanks to my wonderful beta The Red Fairy – without her none of this would be possible. Thanks also to all the kind reviews so far. If you're enjoying the story (or even if you aren't) please review.**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

I had cut myself adrift. All I had wanted for so long was to be free of Carlisle's heavy-handed judgment, to make my own decisions, to stop feeling second or even third best.

And yet, the moment I made the announcement, the first thing I did was look for Carlisle, the sudden urge to know what he thought was overwhelming. He must have used the commotion as an opportunity to make himself scarce. Not that I was surprised, if there was one thing Carlisle hated it was the press when he wasn't in control.

Events moved quicker than I could keep up with. Bella took control of the room, not giving the press any chance for questions. She swept past me, assuring me that we would talk later, and was gone, ushering the press off to another part of the gym in full damage control mode.

Jasper had remained standing next to me, motionless, unsettling for someone usually operating at about two hundred miles per hour. I should have known not to disrupt whatever calm he was trying to achieve. I reached out my hand anyway, keenly aware that I was the cause of his imbalance. His hand swung so swiftly to shove me away that I barely had time to register its movement. There was good reason why Jasper was a boxer.

Emmett moved to stand between us, ever the tactician, keeping his formidable size in the way of things escalating any further. I had seen Jasper this angry many times but never outside of the ring, and not directed at me. I felt like I couldn't breathe under the weight of it, so I looked at Emmett instead, his cool grey eyes reflecting something entirely different, indefinable. I settled on resignation. It was a signature Emmett emotion after all.

"Don't." It was aimed at neither of us in particular, but was enough, as Emmett resorted to his well-honed ability to keep a cool head in tense situations. I tried to follow his example as I watched Jasper stalk away, not once turning back, committed to the fact that he wouldn't see me again for a while. Like everything Jasper did, always an extreme. It was my decision to go, but it stung nonetheless.

My eyes drifted back to Carlisle's office, where I could just see him sitting behind his desk, his back turned on the windows overlooking the gym.

Emmett followed my gaze, turned back to me with an appraising look, the grip of his hand on my arm tightening slightly.

"Leave it, E." There were only two people I let call me that, Emmett was one of them.

It was all I needed to hear. And so, in the hope that leaving it alone to die down, that not pushing for once in my life, might help get Carlisle to see things from my perspective, I left.

I had escaped Carlisle's control, my life finally felt like it belonged to me, but quitting the gym hadn't changed my problems, just how I might deal with them. I still needed to get booked in another fight and I still had to work out how to see Bella again. The first problem solved itself, my ego receiving a boost when the owner of Congrea Gyms called within an hour of leaving the press conference, asking me to come in for a meeting the following day.

Now here I was on the brink of a new chance and I was faltering, standing out the front of Congrea Gyms, trying to catch up with how fast everything had seemed to change around me, convincing myself this was what I wanted.

In stark contrast from my father's gym, with it's imposing entrance and blue tones of steel and glass, Congrea had nothing on the outside at all to indicate that anything important lay hidden inside, other than a wooden door with the company logo printed neatly above it. It was the sort of place where you'd expect to find an underground nightclub, rather than an organization that represented not only a good portion of professional boxers in the Chicago area, but also some of the best boxers in the country.

They were Cullen Gyms' biggest competition in securing top ranked talent, and while I didn't know many other details about the organization, this was the only one that mattered. I knew they had a distinctive, yet unorthodox, and highly sought after head trainer and that the man who owned Congrea was an empire builder.

Though you wouldn't have thought it from looking at the place.

Reassuring myself that this was my best shot at getting my life back on track I went in, the mournful creak the front door gave me heightening the trepidation I was beginning to feel.

As I made my way carefully down the concrete steps into the gym, I replayed the entire events of the previous day over in my head. Every look Bella had given me, every word she had spoken. Trying to glean some sign of how she felt from the tone of her voice, the tilt of her head, the shuttered looks she gave me when no one else was watching. Every detail making me more confident that leaving was the only decision I could make.

We would never have anything if I stayed, under Carlisle's watchful eye, Bella hiding behind the professional veneer that she had kept so firmly in place in the short time I had already known her. I couldn't possibly get through to her that way, without calling attention to what was going on, how I felt about her, how I had started to allow just the faintest glimmer of hope that she felt about me.

I carried that thought with me, adjusting my sight to the dingy light inside the gym, loitering uncertainly in the entry. Directly in front of me was a single boxing ring, flanked on all sides with heavy bags. Adorning the walls were a collection of ragged speed bags, while each corner of the room had some small open areas with skipping ropes discarded haphazardly on the ground. The ring itself was rustic; the canvas weathered and discolored, the ropes no longer taut. Unlike Carlisle's gym, there was no electric equipment to be found, no treadmills, no weight machines, in fact only a few free weights could be seen along the back wall near another door. Seeing the state of the shabby gym was strangely reassuring.

Doing it Carlisle's way hadn't worked out so great for me, maybe this sort of ambiance was exactly what I needed.

Only four other people were in the gym, three of them working out with the one trainer. I didn't recognize the boxers, but I had seen the trainer before. It's hard to forget Marcus once you've met him. His remarkable pure white hair, tied back in the classic ponytail of an aging hippy, was complemented by a three-day growth, a faded grey sweatshirt and jeans that may have once been dark blue. I couldn't be sure but I had a strong feeling he was wearing the same ensemble the last time I had seen him, a year ago.

Marcus had been the trainer of my opponent in the _only_ professional fight I'd had to date. Actually, trainer would have been a generous description; he barely uttered a single word for the entire match. At the end of each round I was astonished to see that rather than offer advice, feedback or support, he simply stood there and passively observed the proceedings, looking on as if he were watching a particularly boring stage show.

I didn't care what his approach was; if fighting again meant having him as a trainer, he could take a nap at ringside for all I cared.

I must have arrived at the conclusion of the training sessions. The fighters shuffled off through a doorway at the back of the room, while Marcus did what he apparently did best, observed. I made the first move.

"Hi, I'm Edward Cullen, I'm here to see Aro."

"I know who you are," he sighed theatrically; I was boring him already.

He gestured in the direction I had just watched the other boxers disappear, to a staircase that seemed to lead to a lower floor.

"Down the stairs, keep to the right."

And with that I think I was dismissed. Any attempt to continue the conversation seemed fruitless, his silent judgement making me nervous. So I opted instead for the treacherous looking set of stairs he had waved me towards.

The second floor down wasn't any cheerier than the first. If it weren't for the pale yellow glow outlining a doorframe at the end of a long corridor I'm not sure how I would have found Aro's office. I passed what smelt like it must have been the change rooms and felt my way long the slightly damp stone corridor, towards the glow.

Knocking on the door I was greeted by a sharp yet deep voice.

"Edward! Come in."

Opening the door, it took me a minute to find my orientation, my eyes adjusting to the flood of light.

"Please, sit down." My gaze was instantly drawn to the man standing at the other end of the office, his Cheshire Cat smile convincing me to do as he said. Aro had an ageless look about him. Being a terrible judge of that kind of thing I wondered vaguely, placing his age somewhere between 40 and 60. He was not a muscular man by any means; he had some obvious signs of keeping in shape, his two-piece single-breasted Italian suit, definitely tailored, fitted neatly over his frame.

Conscious of the fact that he seemed to be appraising me as much as I was him, I turned my attention to his office, sitting down in the wooden chair set out for visitors as I looked around. His expensive tailoring and perfect grooming seemed out of place in his office, a much more cluttered and dusty room than I was expecting. His simple dark wood desk, scattered with paperwork and files that didn't look like they had been opened in some time, squeaked woefully as he leaned towards me.

"Interesting press conference yesterday, right?" He didn't wait for my answer, words spitting out with machine gun ferocity.

"But, I'm not interested in talking about that. Let's get straight to it shall we?"

I went to agree, but he had already moved on.

"We don't believe in bullshit here. Congrea Gyms would like to offer you representation, we have a contract ready." He tapped his hand on a disturbingly large wad of paper on his desk. "All you need do is sign."

My mind raced, I'd imagined some back and forth conversation, a bit of debate over some minute details and then I'd probably sign. Instead I hadn't spoken a single word and I was already being offered a contract. I was easily pleased; all I wanted to do was fight.

Aro obviously wanted the same. Taking my silence for hesitation, he walked around to where I was sitting, perching at the corner of his narrow desk and leaning in conspiratorially.

"Let me ask you a question, what is the one thing you would like most in the world?" he asked, his tone dropping slightly.

He wouldn't have understood the honest answer to that question, so I went with something he would.

"To fight for the Light Heavyweight title." I tried to sell that idea with the right balance between humble but confident, hungry even.

Aro sat back upright in response.

"Really? Not to _win_ the title, but to fight for it? " He paused for the first time, head tilted speculatively, considering the thought.

"Well, if that's your goal we want to help you get there. You put in the work and you'll be rewarded. See all those behind me?" He was back on the other side of the desk, waving his arm almost dismissively at the enormous glass cabinet behind him housing an array of glittering trophies, belts and ribbons.

"I think they speak for themselves…" He was right about that. The words they spoke were far more seductive than anything else he could have said on the matter. Watching Emmett win the WBC title last month had intensified something inside me. I hadn't realized how much I wanted what Emmett had until that moment; seeing the crowd, screaming in excitement as he delivered an explosive uppercut, knocking his heavily favored opponent out and winning the title, the pride in Carlisle's voice when he spoke of Emmett continuing the family legacy.

"You might have some questions, here are some answers." I wasn't sure what Aro was talking about, but his enthusiasm for his own voice brought my focus back to him.

"Yes, our facilities may not be as sharp as your father's, but we believe in old school training here. We prefer roadwork to treadmills, body weight workouts to lifting weights, and of course extensive conditioning. You'll be expected to work, and work hard. In compensation we'll make sure you get to fight and have the best opportunities to make it to the top." He finally took a quick breath, pausing for only a fraction of a second, his finger tapping unconsciously on the contract.

"We have very friendly deals with a lot of major sponsors and our top guys fight regularly on Pay-Per-View." It was beginning to look like the dream proposition; I only needed to know one thing.

"When will my first fight be?" I jumped in, not knowing when I would get a chance to speak again.

"Sign that contract and I can have you in a fight next week." He broke eye contact with me for one moment, drawing my attention down to the contract pressed under his hand.

I hesitated, everything was moving so quickly. There were other boxing promoters in town; I didn't _have_ to sign with the first promoter that waved a contract in my face.

"You'll be on the undercard of a Pay-Per-View event in Las Vegas next week. The fighter we had scheduled just dropped out and we're ironing out the details of a replacement now. You'd be perfect."

Jasper was scheduled for a big match at the same event, which meant Bella would be there too. The promise of seeing Bella far outweighed the apprehension I had about a confrontation with Jasper.

"Sounds great." My old training routine was becoming a distant memory, I needed to build a new one and quickly if I wanted to get my career back on track.

"You'll be up first, it's six rounds and not televised but it's a way to start improving your ranking." Aro slid the paperback sized document across the table.

"It's a generous three-year contract. Only the last two pages need your signature. Read the rest if you like, but I need to know your answer now."

Even if recent events indicated otherwise, I was usually not prone to making on the spot decisions that would have long-term ramifications.

Aro leaned towards me over his desk, moving to pull back the contract.

"If you don't sign I'll have to put another fighter in that match next week. We need to stitch up this deal now to have the match sanctioned in time." I should have seen through a sales pitch so obvious, three years is a long contract, but my longing to get back to fighting, and my need to see Bella again, was a force too strong to overcome.

"What's it going to be, Edward?" he held out a pen, knowing he had already won me over. I took it and flicked straight to the end, signing my name hastily, letting the pen fall back onto the table, telling myself I'd look over the full contract later. Nothing in there would be too serious, but I didn't care anyway, the important thing was I'd be fighting again.

My euphoria was cut short by the sudden shift in Aro's demeanor, as he slipped his pen back in his pocket.

"Fantastic, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to you being here with us Edward. Marcus will meet with you first thing in the morning to run you through your last minute training. Oh and Victoria will talk to you about our guidelines for dealing with the press tomorrow." The cadence of his voice had dropped considerably from the beginning of our conversation.

"Victoria?" I asked, confident that it couldn't be _her_.

"You know her." It wasn't a question.

"She recently left your fathers gym too. Should be quite the reunion. She speaks very highly of you." I struggled to school my expression; burying any thought of analyzing that statement as I left Aro's office in a daze.

An hour later I was sitting in a diner around the corner from Cullen Gyms of all places, picking around a Chicken Caesar Salad, no dressing, trying to get my head around what I'd just done while bringing my best friend Jake up to speed.

So far it wasn't going so well for me.

"Are you serious, E? What possessed you to do that?" I was unsure if Jake was genuinely upset at hearing I'd quit the gym or was just teasing me. I hoped he was amused, because Jake was the most unflappable person I knew and if he was flapped then I'd seriously fucked things up.

My first instinct this morning had been to call Jake, needing to get my bearings even before my unsettling meeting with Aro, and he had instantly known something was up, demanding we meet for lunch to talk. I had never met anyone so at ease with his life, so self-assured, as Jake. He exuded easy confidence; always perfectly put together in a way that never looked like he had tried and completely unaware of the effect he had on people. Since he wandered into the diner in dark jeans, black t-shirt and wool sweater pushed up to his elbows, I had lost count of the number of women, and men, who had checked him out.

If it was anyone other than Jake, I might feel inadequate, comparing myself unfavorably to his tall, athletic frame and swathe of neatly cropped, thick dark hair, everything in balance.

But with Jake, beneath all the trimmings that caught other people's attention he was solid, grounded, and always there. Like right now for instance, sitting across from me, waiting for some answers.

I let myself get distracted by the clanging of plates, the loud drone of hungry patrons' conversations, while I tried to order my thoughts.

"You see…" I began, unsure of the destination of the story, but ploughing on anyway. "There is this girl…"

Jake raised his eyebrow knowingly, a grin spreading across his face. "Really." He sounded it out deliberately, green eyes locked on me. I tried to ignore him as I forged ahead with my half-baked explanation.

"So Carlisle had just hired a new Media Consultant for the gym."

Jake unwavering eye contact, given my awkwardness about Bella, was becoming unbearable. It was easier just to steer away from the subject.

"But before that Carlisle was driving me fucking insane. We'd been arguing about putting me in another fight…" I trailed off pensively pushing the chicken around my plate. I was beginning to feel childish. I was looking forward to getting back into the ring and soon, where it came down to you and one other person.

Everything that was happening outside of one was too complicated.

"We'll definitely come back to Carlisle." I couldn't wait; Jake, much like Emmett, had a very particular sense of morality.

"First, tell me more about the girl."

Even with the inquisition, I couldn't help by smile, just thinking about her brightening my mood considerably.

"Her name's Bella Swan."

"Bella Swan? Sounds like an adult entertainer," he said, without judgement.

"No. It doesn't." My fork clanged against the plate as I dropped it in horror. I was having none of that, instantly feeling like I had to defend her, make Jake understand how impressive she was.

"She just started working at the gym and I don't know; there's just something about her." That wasn't going to cut it.

Jake waited patiently for more. I wondered if there was money to be made in winning staring competitions, he could make a killing.

"She's cute, but confident. Graceful, you know? She looks like she _should_ be more delicate or shy but she's… well she's…" I didn't really know how to describe any of what I was feeling, I was about to tell him the sight of her body made my pulse race faster than any boxing match had.

Luckily, Jake interrupted.

"So you've spoken to her?"

He had pinpointed my major failing up until now. Holding a conversation with Bella Swan was not something I felt equipped to do without making a fool of myself.

"Not really, she told me we'd need to speak soon." I returned to despondently pushing my food around my plate.

"So how did Carlisle take it?"

"I wouldn't know." I pushed my plate away, giving up the pretense that I was even interested in eating right now. "He didn't even stick around to talk to the press. Or to me"

"Think about it from his perspective, E. His son quit his representation in the most public way possible and you know how much he hates dealing with the press at the best of times."

That suggestion seemed so at odds with the Carlisle I had witnessed in the last few years, I filed it away to consider when I wasn't squirming under Jake's intense scrutiny.

"I think you're being generous calling it representation."

I was swinging blindly, wanting so badly for Jake to see it from my perspective, to reassure me that I'd done the right thing. So far, I was even more uncertain than when I walked in the door.

"I needed to get out of there. Every day was the same thing, train, argue with Carlisle, and train some more. Did he think I would put up with that for the rest of my life?"

Jake remained silent, his soul encroaching gaze demanding a better explanation. Eventually, when it was clear that was all I had to offer, he responded.

"Look, I know the last few years haven't being easy and you're on this whole journey of self discovery or whatever it is, but I just want to know that you're _really_ thinking this through." He looked like he wanted to say more, weighing the benefit, but thinking better of it.

"For starters how are you going to box again?"

At last, a question I actually had a good answer to.

"I signed with Aro over at Congrea Gyms this morning."

"What?" Jake's voice had dropped into monotone, shock registering on his face for the first time since the conversation started. It was clear in his mind this news was anything but good.

I shrugged it off; trying to play it like I didn't think it was a big deal, pushing down the creeping dread that Jake's reaction had set off.

"They offered me a contract, and I took it."

Jake's eyes crinkled with worry, either at the news I had just shared, or my flippant attitude, I wasn't sure. He was silent a moment, regarding me.

"I know I don't have the boxing background you and your family does but seriously, even I know that signing with Congrea will devastate Carlisle."

My stomach flipped, remembering the hurt and anger in my brothers' faces, wondering at what I would have seen in Carlisle's if he hadn't so uncharacteristically removed himself from play.

Jake, easily my best friend and constant supporter, the person whose opinion I trusted above any other, knew me so well that he could sense my moment of weakness and moved in for his final attack.

"Not only that, do you really think, after everything, that Carlisle, or your brothers, deserve the renewed attention and scrutiny they're now going to have to deal with from the press?"

I grimaced; surprised that Jake would dredge up old wounds to make his point with me. If that was how he wanted to play it, I figured I had just as much ammunition as he did.

"I don't know Jake, your guess is as good as mine. I don't suppose you've spoken to Emmett lately?"

I instantly regretted it. At the mention of Emmett, Jake broke eye contact, suddenly fascinated with swirling the remnants of his water around his almost empty glass. It was a low blow and I felt ashamed for using Emmett as weapon against him just so I could avoid talking about my own issues.

I had developed a lasting friendship with Jake over time, and mutual interests, but when I introduced him to Emmett, they had become friends straight away. No one had been more surprised than me.

Emmett, so painfully shy that he would rather face someone in the ring than talk to them, miraculously had no trouble at all talking to Jake. It was a happy surprise to all of us that Emmett was actually conversing with someone that wasn't a trainer or a member of his family. The reason why they were now not speaking to each other was a mystery to everyone, but I did know that something had happened around the time that Emmett won the Light Heavyweight Championship; one day they were almost inseparable, then nothing, no contact with each other for weeks now. It was assumed knowledge that Emmett wouldn't talk about anything other than boxing and Jake was stubborn in his refusal to go into details, knowing that Emmett wouldn't.

When pressed for information he would always change the subject. It was what I was banking on.

"So in this brave new world you seem to be creating for yourself, how is it exactly that you plan on seeing the mysterious Bella again?" Jake looked up at me, teasingly, back to his usual self.

"I'm working on it." It was all I could manage, still a little rattled that I had so easily turned to taking out my frustrations on Jake. I had always assumed that getting out from under my fathers thumb would magically make my next move apparent. If I didn't work out how to talk to Bella soon, the only place I'd continue to see her would be my increasingly elaborate fantasies.

I was saved from trying to explain that to Jake as my phone vibrated across the table, the screen displaying blocked number. Keeping with the recent tradition of doing things outside my comfort zone, I excused myself for a minute, slipping outside to answer it.

The sun was scorching, the sound of traffic making it difficult to make out the words of the caller, but the second I heard them speak I knew it was Bella. I could feel my hand shake slightly against the phone as I listened to the lilt of her voice on the other end, so much better than the version of it I had playing over in my head.

I took a deep breath and leant against the glass window of the diner, the feeling of hot glass reminding me that this was real.

"Is this Edward?" the voice was asking, by the sound of it she was also near some heavy road noise.

"Yes, it is." I could hear my voice rising by several octaves as I spoke, admonishing myself to get it together for once.

"This is Bella Swan, do you have a minute?" A minute? I would happily to give her much more than that.

"Sure." I said putting on some false bravado.

"Sorry, hang on a sec, just picking up my coffee." That wasn't a surprise.

I stood there waiting for her to come back on the line, my mind wandering, putting together the pieces that should have been obvious from the start. I know the coffee cart she buys from. _And the road noise._ I convince myself my luck could not be that good, but still scan the opposite side of the street for the coffee stand I know should be there. Sure enough, standing across the street, back now turned, head crooked to cradle her phone against her ear as she collected a coffee so large it seems like they must have custom made it just for her, was Bella Swan.

"Sorry about that. Edward?"

I briefly considered telling her I could see her, before coming to the realization that I might sound like a stalker watching her every move.

"Yeah, still here." Wow, I was lighting the conversation on fire.

"You gave me quite the surprise yesterday. On my first day, too. Very bold."

"Um. Thanks?" I'd been on the phone with her for about ten seconds and I was already off balance. Through the traffic noise, I thought I could hear her muffle a laugh.

"Anyway, I've only got a moment, Carlisle's keeping me pretty busy, but I just wanted to talk to you."

"And I you," I blurted out, instantly regretting opening my mouth.

Flirting was not my forte.

"Yeah? What about?" I was having trouble judging her tone; it sounded… friendly? Hopeful maybe? It took what was probably a full minute of silence, while I tried to dissect the smallest details of the conversation so far, before I realized she was waiting for me to speak.

"Edward? You still there?"

"Yeah, sorry I'm having trouble hearing you." I was hearing her just fine, even over the rumble of traffic. I would keep pretending I couldn't though, if she would keep saying my name.

"Well, let me go first. Carlisle wants me to talk to you, to organize tying up a few details about you leaving the gym."

"Ok…" I had expected Carlisle to do that himself, but I was happy to work with the alternative.

"I'd prefer to do it in person if I could." She paused for a moment, her head tilted to the side and I could see her, smiling to herself. "I like to give my work a more personal touch." She cringed slightly, as though she couldn't believe what she had just said. It made her seem even more unbearably sexy.

I dropped my phone. Was Bella Swan flirting with me? Grasping around the ground for my phone, I was glad she hadn't turned around fully, or she would have witnessed the farce I was making of it.

"Hello?" Thank god she hadn't hung up.

"Yeah, I 'm here." It was definitely a good idea I didn't go over to talk to her. Baby steps.

"When would you like to meet?" I asked, trying to keep my cool.

"I'm busy the next couple of days and then I'm off to Vegas with Alice and the boys, for Jasper's fight." _The boys_. With those two words, so affectionate, familiar, she brought me the closest I had come yet to regretting leaving the gym.

I had to remind myself that now I could see her on my terms.

"I'll be there too. I've got a match on the undercard."

"Is that so?" She was definitely toying with me; there was no way she wouldn't know something like that within about five minutes of it being scheduled.

"So, Vegas?" I asked thinking that might give me time to get my shit together. It would mean waiting a whole week to see her again, but since I had only just barely mastered talking to her on the phone, I couldn't complain about having more time before having to handle a conversation in person.

"Vegas." I wasn't even sure if she said goodbye, or anything else, before hanging up. That one word, full of promise, hung in the air as she walked away, oversized coffee in hand.

I rested my hand against the diner window, trying to gather my thoughts, needing to avoid going back to Jake and making even more of an idiot of myself. Still grinning with what must have looked like maniacal pleasure, I looked up, through the glass. And there was Jake, sitting at the window booth I had unfortunately insisted on, watching me curiously, knowingly, his eyebrows raised in mock inquisition.

Now I really had some explaining to do.

* * *

**A/N Glossary: **

**Roadwork** – The term used for running. Old school boxers would run a lot to build endurance. Today it isn't seen as necessary, with the preferred training being explosive short bursts of energy done repeatedly over a long period of time.

**Body weight training** – using your body weight to build muscle through things like push-ups, pull-ups, crunches, squats, rope jumping etc

**A note on Aro's approach to training in general** – This was referencing the old style approach to boxing training most often seen in films such as Rocky: lot's of long distance running, no heavy weight lifting and no fancy equipment. Some argue that this is still the best method of training.

**Next Chapter: Vegas! Edward fights again and finally talks to Bella face to face.**

**Once again please review. Comments (good or bad) make it all worthwhile.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Thanks again to my awesome beta The Red Fairy who is worth following on twitter (at)therealredfairy, as she is incredibly entertaining. **

**A special shout out to the lovely people who have recommended the story to others and to all who have left a review.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Riley retreated back, his footwork strong, but sluggish. Only a minute into round one and he was already struggling to keep up, my pace driven by nearly a year of frustration, facing constant obstacles to reach this moment.

I closed the distance between us, not waiting to assess his game plan. Three quick jabs were met with raised arms and I respond by pivoting to the right, throwing a hasty left hook as he turns to keep up, leaving his mid section open long enough for me to land a strong uppercut. Buoyed by the sound of his gasp for air, I throw two more cocky hooks, wanting it over quickly, letting my guard slip in favor of a quick win. Riley lands a straight right in reply. While weak, it was enough to mess up my footwork and momentarily throw me off balance.

I step back, circling, forcing him around the ring, easing off the attack to watch his body move. The shock of his last blow made me pause, forcing me to better evaluate the situation, and my opponent. I knew Riley would be as hungry as I was to win, both of us looking to improve our rankings. He was pretty much my equal in frame and size, perhaps slightly shorter, and carrying a little less muscle mass around the arms. That was clearly my advantage. I had a feeling by looking at his stance, arms raised to guard his face, that he was going to spend a lot of the fight playing peek-a-boo; occasionally dropping his arms just long enough to land some choice blows before resuming the defense. Fuck that. I wasn't in the mood for a drawn out competition. Knowing that Bella, and therefore Carlisle, would be out there somewhere in the audience gave me all the motivation I needed to make sure I ended the fight quickly and convincingly.

Speed and power would be the key.

Riley, putting his strategy into full effect, ducked and weaved, constantly moving back, then rushing forward to land a spell of anemic combos. I raised my arms and defended against all but the last blow, deciding I could handle taking one weak shot from him if it gave me enough time to act on my lack of patience. I swung full force, feeling the thrill of my first hit of the fight as it connected with a solid cracking sound against his jaw. Looking for a repeat I drew my arm back to deliver again but the bell, signaling the end of round, saved him from further punishment.

I wondered if Marcus would be happy with that performance but as I turned to go back to my corner, I realized he wasn't there waiting. I could not fucking believe it. He was sitting in the front row, arms folded, his face showing about as much enthusiasm for the proceedings as a funeral. I knew we weren't exactly having family BBQs or sharing beers at the end of a hard day of training, but what the fuck was that?

I hadn't been allocated a cut man for the bout; Marcus was supposed to fill that role too, so I was left to collect my own stool, which I did as though it was all planned that way. I used the time to have a breather, not bothering to remove my mouth guard to take some water, scanning the crowd with the remaining moments before the next round. The arena, still half empty in the late afternoon sun, was slowly beginning to fill, the crowd's attention only half on the ring as they waited for higher profile matches to start. I would have to work harder to make them notice.

The bell sounded for round two.

Riley came out of his corner, full force, having clearly received some serious words of inspiration during the break. Ignoring the sudden aggression, and still fuming from Marcus' end of round snubbing, I took his first jab under the right eye and responded by stepping around him, rushing in with a series of jab crosses. Riley was clearly unprepared for the speed of my attack, lumbering in for a clinch. The ref called for a break and I pushed forward hitting him solidly on the cheek. Fearless, I unloaded a series of jabs, hooks and uppercuts with almost reckless abandon.

I could hear the crowd begin to stir. Up until that moment the arena had being subdued, but with the first real action of the night a few yells of encouragement were starting to come through. I watched Riley resort to his natural style, rebuilding the wall of defense. I didn't care, working each side of the body; landing blows without difficulty, waiting for his guard to drop. I didn't have to wait long. Riley was tiring quickly, breathing patchy. He dropped both arms for a fraction of a second. I took a deep breath and delivered everything I had into a straight right. Riley crumpled to the canvas and the ref started the count.

Ten seconds later, I had won my second professional fight and my first without a Cullen in my corner. I hoped Carlisle had been watching.

The crowd, disappointed the action was so short lived, resumed their apathy. I congratulated a recovering Riley for a good fight and collected my things.

Marcus found enough enthusiasm to stand, but not enough to change his facial expression. He walked in the direction of the change room but paused, turning instead to come and stand by the ring steps as I was coming down.

"Congratulations." I doubted it was possible to sound less like he meant it.

"Thanks." I returned with the same lack of sincerity. "Is this how it's going to be every fight?" It was still better than the old status quo, I assured myself.

"That would depend."

"On?" He was determined to make me work for every word out of his mouth.

"If you continue to perform like that against opponents of that caliber_,_ I won't even be in attendance next time."

I was at a loss to understand what he meant. Although he hadn't actually spoken more than a handful of words to me over the past week, I thought that this fight had been a kind of test. One that if passed would lead to the real training program. Now I wasn't sure where I stood; my post-win elation tempered by uncertainty at Marcus' attitude.

I trailed silently behind him, back to the change room, trying not to let it bother me, instead distracting myself with one of my more pleasant obsessions. _Bella. _She hadn't given me any idea of how, when or where we would meet, but I figured she wouldn't have any trouble finding me, considering that my plans currently consisted of hiding out in my dressing room, avoiding my family until the fights were over.

It wasn't usual for the undercard fighters to get their own dressing room, but on a big fight night like this even the curtain-jerkers got certain privileges. As Marcus collected his bag and left, sparing just enough time to help me pull off my gloves, I realized how relieved I was to have this space to myself. I took in the décor for the first time, pacing around, too restless in the aftermath of the fight to even try to sit still.

I was had been in here before my fight, but I must have been too distracted to notice anything around me.

The room was clean and unnaturally bright, the overhead lights casting an almost pale blue wash over everything. Someone had bolted a plasma TV to the wall, which was playing a live feed from the match now taking place in the ring.

Funny, I had almost forgotten there were more fights on the card.

I ignored the two armchairs set up across from the TV, perching myself on the doctor's exam table that was set up against the wall furthest from the door. It dawned on me that this was some kind of defensive position, a vantage point for me to see anyone who entered the room, but I was too wired to relax into an armchair.

By the time Jasper's match was due to begin, I was slumped back against the wall, the exam table becoming increasingly uncomfortable beneath me, waiting for something to happen. The roar of the crowd told me Jasper had entered the arena long before he appeared on the television; their cheers drowning out any hint of his choice of entrance music.

Seeing the power that Jasper's ring entrance had over the crowd reminded me that I needed to sort out my ring attire, and pick some entrance music, before my next fight.

As with all Cullen boxers, Jasper didn't go to the ring with a large entourage, but he did usually arrive with more energy than any other boxer I had ever seen.

Jasper's crew was were inseparable, and fiercely loyal to him, an effect he had on most people, and which he paid back in kind. I watched their entrance to the ring, fascinated. It felt odd, to suddenly be an observer, removed from the experience that I was so used to living through from ringside seats. The telecast captured the full effect of the show; the open arena now shining in the night air, dwarfed by the looming buildings that made up Caesars Palace hotel in the background.

Seeing the power that Jasper's ring entrance had over the crowd reminded me that I needed to sort out my ring attire, and pick some entrance music, before my next fight.

It also gave me a new perspective; from here it was clear how nervous he was, his intense concentration as he paced back and forth belying the uncertainty, the restless nerves I could see bubbling beneath the surface. His opponent was a tall fighter from France, Laurent something or other. I'd never seen him in a match before but he had a reputation as a solid fighter, adept at countering most styles thrown his way.

It would be interesting to see how he fared against someone as showy and unpredictable as Jasper.

The camera panned across the crowd, not an empty seat to be seen, as the commentators hyped the match as the one to potentially steal the show. Jasper had developed a reputation of being a showman, knowing just how to work the crowd. The ferocity he put into a match often led to some amazing wins, but his erratic form was also the reason for some equally spectacular defeats. Nonetheless, his fights were never clinical or boring. The crowd would always get their money's worth.

The timekeeper rang the bell and I was surprised to see Jasper not go immediately on the offense; Laurent mirroring Jasper's apprehension as they circled each other. Laurent eventually broke the pattern, sounding Jasper out with a few tentative jabs.

I leaned forward, playing out in my mind how I would respond if I were Jasper, knowing well that I couldn't even begin to anticipate what Jasper would actually do. It had always been the best, and most annoying, part of watching him fight.

The chance to see Jasper's next move was lost, though, when the door of my dressing room burst open and Victoria flounced into the room. I wondered what had taken her so long to come see me, but as I took in her choice of wardrobe it dawned on me. She had changed clothes since the match. If Aro wanted the face of his public relations to look like a high-class escort, then her outfit was a complete success. I wasn't sure how she could walk in the spiked heels she was wearing.

I kept my expression neutral, willing my face not to revert to the scowl I could feel creeping to the surface.

"Ed! Congrats on the win. Must be nice to cut loose and fight again." She was already making her way across the room, in what I assumed was supposed to be a seductive manner. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was sitting there in nothing but my boxing shorts and shoes.

"Yeah, felt great." I tried to keep my attention on Jasper's match. It seemed that he had now returned to his favorite approach to boxing: a combination of brawling like he was in a street fight and bouncing around his opponent for the crowd's amusement.

I couldn't help but smile.

That was all the encouragement Victoria needed to continue.

"I've got some good news. A magazine is interested in doing a feature on you as part of an article on the rising stars of boxing. It'd be one of those side bar articles, they suggested calling it _Out of the Shadows._" I was happy to be 'out of the shadows' but that didn't mean I wanted the press to shine a spotlight on me.

No, doing an article that rubbed the news in Carlisle's face wasn't necessary. Success in the ring, proving I could do this, was the only thing I wanted him to see. Not words in a magazine.

I couldn't even begin to explain to Victoria why I would reject what she must think was an enticing offer. So I chose not to try.

"I don't know about that."

My lack of enthusiasm was clearly not want Victoria wanted, or was expecting, to hear.

"What's not to know? You've had a big win. An _impressive_ win. And Aro will want to promote it, and you, to get interest in upcoming fights. Family drama, sibling rivalry, fatherly expectations, these are some great hooks. It's what the press understands."

I pulled halfheartedly at the tape still wrapped around my hands from the fight.

"I left Cullen Gyms to get away from all that. Do I need to constantly be associated with it?"

"Alright, I can work with that. We'll make it part of your personality, something that the press can latch on to. Could you try getting furious with the reporter, maybe even threaten to walk out if your family is mentioned?"

She just did not get it. "I'd rather not rely on gimmicks at all."

"That's cute Ed." Victoria had moved in so close that all I could smell was the cloying scent of her too floral perfume.

"But the last thing I need is to have to deal with another boxer with zero personality. I was hoping you'd be more Jasper than Emmett." I pulled away from her, until I was pressed up against the wall, resenting her cheap shots at my brothers, and the idea that I needed to push my family problems any further into the public domain.

She leaned in under the guise of dramatic effect, closing the distance between us again.

"Look, Ed, I'm just doing my job." Her mouth was disturbingly close to my ear. "If the press likes you, other promoters will like you. If other promoters like you, you get booked in more fights against their guys."

I guessed that this was supposed to be the moment when I melted, putty in her hands. All I could think was that her cold, metallic red hair was obscuring my view of the fight and I really wanted to see how Jasper was dealing with Laurent.

Instead, I had Victoria to contend with. Her arms planted firmly on either side of me, keeping me in place on the table, against the wall. I was pinned down.

"Why don't we talk about this back at the hotel? Maybe grab a drink, relax a little?" She smiled at me, emphasizing her point, like I needed clarification.

The whole scenario confused me. Victoria acted like I didn't exist when she worked for Carlisle, yet now we were both at Congrea, the constant and intense attention she paid me was way more than I could handle. Or had any interest in pursuing.

"I have plans tonight." _I hoped_.

Her eyes narrowed, skeptical. No, angry. "Really? What…"

A knock at the door answered her question. With my luck and Victoria's physical proximity, I knew it would have to be Bella. I could hear the door open, but Victoria was still so close she was blocking my view.

It didn't matter, the second I heard her voice my heart sank.

"Oh. Sorry Edward, I can see you're busy…"

Victoria had the decency to at least straighten enough for me to see Bella, standing frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight of Victoria leaning over me, unnecessarily close.

I could barely breathe. She was stunning, even standing there in shock. Her tight dark jeans hugging her neat curves, hair almost bronze in this light, spilling in gentle curls over her soft open neck shirt. I could see just a hint of collarbone. I wanted to touch it so badly, my fingers twitched. Bella, radiating effortless and casual grace, stood in stark contrast to Victoria's forceful and obvious attempts to get my attention.

"I can come back another time."

"No!" I think I may have shouted. Remaining calm was almost impossible with her in the room. "Stay. Please." Victoria tensed, taking in the sudden, and embarrassingly obvious, shift in my behavior.

"Ah I see, these would be the plans then?" Victoria said eyeing Bella shamelessly.

Bella stepped forward, clearly relieved to have some course of action, balancing her usual assortment of colorful stationery in one hand and clutching a white envelope in the other. Putting the envelope under her arm, she held out her hand to Victoria.

"Hi. Bella Swan."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, flashing recognition, too fleeting for most people to notice. But I had spent enough time in her presence recently to catch it, knowing she was already thinking about how to work this to her advantage.

"Oh you're the _girl _that took over at Cullen's. Interesting." Victoria shook her hand as though humoring a small child. I sat motionless; watching them size each other up, Bella was smaller, but formidable, and definitely younger than Victoria. I realized I had no idea how old Bella was but I didn't think girl was an accurate description. I had assumed she was slightly older than me, maybe early 20's, around Jasper's age.

If I could get five minutes alone with her maybe I could find out.

"Thanks for coming by Victoria, we can talk about that interview later." I stood abruptly, unaccustomed to dismissing people, but needing her gone. She was taking up valuable Bella time.

"No problem Ed. We'll have _plenty_ of time to chat during the week I'm sure." Her tone held the barest hint of a threat. "Maybe with Aro on Monday. I'm sure he'll have an opinion on all this."

Victoria spared a glance in Bella's direction, making sure she had our full attention as she sauntered to the door, slamming it shut behind her, the sound a comforting assurance that Bella and I were now alone.

"Sorry about that," I said, all thought of watching Jasper's fight forgotten.

"Please, tell me _that's_ not why you went to Congrea." Bella wrinkled her nose slightly in indignation, her eyes sparkling with amusement at my discomfort. "Don't you think she's a little old for you, _Ed_?"

The breathy way she said my name, even in jest, using Victoria's infuriating nickname, made my heart skip a beat. Bella had only been in the room with me for all of one minute and I was already on the back foot.

I needed to get control of myself, and the conversation.

"Seriously though, she was all over you." Bella had launched some kind of offense that I couldn't find a way into, until I noticed the slight frown starting to form through her teasing; the bite to her voice as she criticized Victoria, the edges dissolving from her usually unflappable exterior.

"Here I was worried _I_ might come across like a bit of a cougar."

The implications of what she had just said didn't take long to sink in, my eyes widening in shock, too stunned to think of a quick reply.

"Uh. I didn't mean to say it that way."

"How did you mean to say it?" I stared intently at her, but she wouldn't quite make eye contact, instead gently sucking the corner of her bottom lip into her mouth in thought. I struggled to stay focused on what she was saying.

"More in a… not at all kind of way."

Looking at Bella, seeing her off balance, no matter how marginally, was beginning to put me at ease. I was finally feeling like her equal in this conversation.

"You're what, 21? 22? It's probably a little young to start worrying about being too old." I was still leaning against the table, scared that if I stepped towards her it might shatter the tenuous link building between us.

"Come on Edward, you should know it's never polite to ask a girl her age."

Damn, she was good. I could feel the moment slipping away from me, unsure how to hold on. Bella tapped the envelope still clutched in her hand, resorting to business, leaving no room for me to respond.

"So. I came to talk to you about getting your approval for this statement Carlisle wants to put out, regarding you leaving the gym."

She kept going, words tumbling out, undeniably aware that I had started moving slowly towards her.

"It's just some details about how it was mutually beneficial for both parties and how Carlisle is fully supportive of your endeavors elsewhere."

"So it's full of lies then."

"Best not to look at it that way. Think of it more like an exaggerated version of an idealized scenario." She faltered, drawing breath, her eyes moving beneath her lashes. I knew instantly that she was looking at my bare stomach. The muscles in my torso tensed instinctively.

Her proximity, her reaction to me, was proving more stimulation than I could handle, bringing down the barrier between thought and speech.

"You don't actually need my permission for that statement." It wasn't a question.

"Well, no." She paused for a second; I was so close to her now, could feel the heat radiating from her body, mingling with the smell of cinnamon, and coffee beans, sending my senses into overdrive, making every inch of me ache to touch her.

I wasn't sure why I was hesitating. Maybe I wanted her to ask, to look me in the eye and confirm that she wanted me too.

"Edward." Her voice, so tentatively sounding out my name, was almost too much for me to bear. I watched her lift her eyes to mine, tantalizingly slow, until she is looking at me, calm and direct.

"Why did you choose that morning, of all times, to leave?"

It was the last thing I was expecting her to say, but her warm brown eyes were so sincere, I couldn't deny her.

All the answers I could give tumbled through my mind; that I was struck dumb by her presence from the moment I saw her, that I would have done anything to get her to even look me in the eyes, that I was tired of fighting my father all the time instead of strangers in a boxing ring and I wanted to hurt him. That last one caught me by surprise, but I pushed the thought away in favor of the very welcome distraction currently standing in front of me.

"You had an unexpected effect on me." It was a hasty amalgamation of reasons, falling painfully short in every way, not even close to capturing how I truly felt.

Bella looked away. Her reaction to that statement was shuttered, unreadable. I hated not knowing what she thought. She was still so close to me, I could tilt her face back up to mine, if I wanted, but my hands remained still, ineffectual, at my sides as I watched her sidestep me, recovering some distance.

I shifted, moving around her intuitively, like we were somehow in each other's orbit, silent as she laid down her clipboard and the envelope on the exam table, leaning against it casually. She was one, maybe two, steps away from me but it felt like too much. I could close the gap in about a second. The desire to be near her, to slip my fingers into her hair, to feel the texture of her pale skin, was becoming overwhelming.

"Let me ask you a question." I said, my need quashing any traces of uncertainty I had left. "You didn't have to call me the other day and you didn't have to meet me tonight. So why _are_ you here now?"

I took one small step towards her. Close enough again that I could reach out and touch, but still I held out, waiting. Bella hesitated, planting her hand against my chest, an attempt to keep me from moving any nearer to her. She closed her eyes; I watched her breath coming in shallow sighs. I stilled, uncertain, skin growing hot beneath her fingers, needing to make sure she wanted me.

"Edward…"

Her voice, heavy with need, fuelled a surge of adrenaline that still lingered from the fight, threatening to overpower me. And finally, as she raised her eyes to mine, this time I could see there a fierce intensity, a desire that matched my own.

I wanted to find the right words to answer her silent acknowledgement, to make her understand what she had so quickly become to me. Instead I trailed my fingertips along her jaw, down her neck, into her soft hair, feeling her shiver beneath my touch as the tape wound around my hands grazed against her skin.

A small, desperate noise escaped her lips and I pressed my mouth gently, tenderly onto hers in a kiss that I hoped would be the first of many.

Not enough. I was greedy, needing more, desperate to have every sense be overwhelmed by her; scent, taste, touch. She beat me to it, sliding her hands up my chest and into my hair, curling her fingers into small fists and pushing her mouth insistently against mine. I was undone. My hands slid down her sides, across the curve of her hips, her mouth opening to mine as I lifted her up onto the table behind her.

Still not enough. My fingers tugged at the edge of her shirt, slipped underneath to trace along the edge where her jeans gave way to warm, soft skin. The feel of her electrified my body, every hair standing on end; everything outside this room, beyond the texture of her skin, the kisses she was planting on my face, her fingertips playing across my neck, became meaningless.

I was conditioned to keep up twelve rounds in a fight, but my breath was drawing ragged now. I pulled her in closer, never close enough, running my mouth down her neck, sliding her shirt aside to plant kisses along her collarbone while her hands explored, possessively, the muscles knotted across my back.

"_Bella_." I barely recognized my own voice, deep and full of longing, responding to her touch.

The growing urgency of the moment was shattered by a knock on the door, followed abruptly by the sound of Carlisle's voice from the other side.

"Edward?" Carlisle's presence could only mean that Jasper's match was over, the same thought clearly registering on Bella's face. We both looked up at the screen to see a replay of Jasper's hand being raised by the referee.

I couldn't catch a break. Bella was already pulling away.

"Shit, I have to go. I'd better be there when he talks to the press. You never know what you Cullen boys might say when you're not supervised closely."

"Wait…" Bella had shifted gears so quickly. I floundered, trying to find some way to convince her not to go, unable to form even the simplest coherent argument. She was scribbling something on the envelope she had brought with her, but I barely noticed, too caught up in the way her other hand moved to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

I started to comprehend how far the situation had slipped from my control as I watched Bella's flurried movements; smoothing her hair at the mirror, checking to make sure everything was in place, sparing one more glance my way before dumping the envelope face down beside me on the exam table, opening the door and sidling past Carlisle on her way out. And then she was gone.

Carlisle for his part showed little surprise, only nodding to her as she left.

"Edward." It was a statement, presumably meant as a greeting.

I didn't answer, still crashing from what had just taken place. The absolute bottom of my list of priorities was a conversation with Carlisle.

"Why was Bella here?"

"Um." I was tempted for a moment to tell him the truth. Just for shock value. But I would not, no could not, use Bella that way, as a weapon, against anyone. Ever.

"She was telling me about the statement," I said, offhandedly.

"Statement?" He sounded like it was the first he'd heard of it, but I knew he was unlikely to admit to that. "Good, good."

I forced myself to give Carlisle my full attention in the hope that it would get this over with quicker. He was silent, not looking at me, but rather just behind me. My mind started to wander, against my better judgment, back to what had just been happening in here, until Carlisle's voice broke through the moment. Again.

"I saw your fight."

"Yeah?" I was beginning to see some merit in Marcus' minimalist responses.

"A bit careless wasn't it?"

I leant back against the table, deflated, yet unsurprised by his judgment. "What does that mean? I won the fight."

"It doesn't matter, I… that's not…" It was unusual for Carlisle to be reluctant in an opinion, or hesitate even. It was something he seemed to reserve only for talking to me.

"No, I want to know what you meant." I pushed, reverting to old habits.

"A better opponent would have strolled through the sizable holes in your defense."

"It was a second round knockout. I think I had it under control."

"That kid was too green for a pro fight. He shouldn't have even been in the ring."

Now _that_ sounded like the Carlisle I knew well. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, son. You have a great eye. I'm sure you can spot a soft fight when you see one." I barely heard the compliment, too angry at his implication that the fight I'd just won was a set up.

"Did you seriously come here to complain about the fight? At least with Aro I'm actually getting booked in some."

"Aro" he choked the name out like he had swallowed something bitter, repulsive. "The man's a cheap con artist, the very idea that someone like that still exists in this day and age is a disgrace. Working with him will not lead to anything good."

"You didn't care about my career while I was with Cullen Gyms, don't bother starting now." I started to tear at the tape around my hands, not wanting to look at him anymore. Not wanting him to see how much he was affecting me.

"I've always cared about your career, Edward. I'm just not sure we agree on what that is."

"If you care so much, tell me why it's ok for Jasper and Emmett to fight and not for me."

"We've gone over this. I know the last few years have been hard, but we _all _had to go through it, not just you-"

"-I won't talk about this. Not tonight." The tape I was pulling off suddenly became intensely fascinating to me. I could not look him in the eyes, knowing the well-worn pain I would see there if I did, wanting to deny its presence.

It was easier that way, to forget I felt it too.

"Do you think it's easy for me either? What do you think your mother would say if she'd seen the way you've been acting recently?"

That was the last fucking straw.

"What do you actually want? Why are you here?" I demanded. Staring him down, wielding my anger like a shield against his pleas.

"Honestly, I'm not sure anymore. I was hoping you'd come back to Cullen Gyms until you sort yourself out."

"I'm with Congrea now." I had to stay firm, resolute.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've quit without notice."

"This time it's different. I'm under contract." I watched his face closely, trying to work out what he thought of that.

"What?" Quite frankly I was surprised he didn't already know, though the visible effort he was making to keep himself in check, steady his breathing, was pretty clear evidence that he hadn't.

My moment of triumph was short lived as Carlisle schooled his expression, staring at me with his trademark resolve.

"I want you to know Edward, if you ever face Jasper or Emmett in the ring neither of them will go easy on you."

"I wouldn't want it any other way." In truth there were a lot of other ways that I wanted things to be, but this was how they were and I refused to be the one to fold.

Carlisle looked at me like he wasn't sure who I was, a feeling I was beginning to share, before walking back out the door, closing it silently behind him. I slid back up onto the exam table, glad for its presence beneath me, not trusting my legs to keep me upright after the turmoil of the last hour.

My hand brushed across the crisp texture of the envelope Bella had been trying to give me, a reminder of its existence. I stared down at it for what felt like hours, but was probably moments, wondering at its contents. The statement would be from Carlisle's approved perspective; I was sure I didn't want to know. Yet I still picked it up, unable to stop myself, flipping it over in my hands.

And then I saw it.

I stared, uncomprehending, at what Bella had written in neat looping script across the front. A number. Like those I had seen on the doors of every room in the hotel.

But this one was Bella's.

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**A/N Glossary:**

**Clinch** - When a boxer is struggling they sometimes attempt a clinch. It basically involves wrapping your arms around your opponent to try to stop them from hitting you. When applied, the ref will call for the fighters to break the hold and continue.

**Location of fight** - The fights take place in the Caesars Palace open-air boxing arena. Edward's is in the late afternoon, but Jasper's is after dark.

**Taped hands** - Boxers tape up their hands and wrists before putting on their gloves, to minimize the risk of small fractures.

**What happens in between rounds of boxing** - During the breaks in a fight, boxers will go to their corner, take out their mouth guard and be attended to by the people in their corner (usually their trainer and cut man). The trainer will comment on their performance, offer encouragement and give them instructions. The cut man tends to any potential problems, if there are any. Obviously Edward didn't get any of this treatment in this chapter.

**If the next chapter were a fragrance, it would be described as citrusy. So if you're a vodka drinker, break out the Absolut Citron.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Thanks for the responses so far from everyone who has left reviews and for those who have put the story on alert, your support has been truly appreciated. **

**As always I want to thank my beta The Red Fairy for her continued awesomeness.**

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**Chapter 5**

After everything that had happened, driving me constantly forward, I was frozen, finding myself unable to act. Standing outside Bella's hotel room door, I checked for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure the numbers on the door matched what she had written on the envelope still clutched in my hand. I wasn't willing to let it go, in case it somehow became unreal, afraid that if I looked away for too long her neat writing would disappear, revealed as a figment of my imagination.

The longer I stood there, faltering, the more uncertain I became. Starting to worry that she was regretting her invitation, sitting inside hoping not to hear me knock. Or that maybe this was an ambush. My family in there waiting to finally confront me about all the ways I had failed them. The threat of that confrontation feeding a surge of anger that I had always relied on to protect me. They had tried to deny that I was to blame, but every time I looked at them I knew the truth.

That was what I truly couldn't bear.

As I considered this, I could feel the rising urge to escape, to run and never look back. I fought against it, struggling to stay calm. It didn't matter what was waiting for me on the other side of the door, just that Bella was there. It was the one clear, calming thought that cut through the turmoil in my mind. _Bella_. Less than an hour ago she was in my dressing room but I already felt her absence, my skin tingling at the promise of being able to touch her again.

The realization of how close I was to her, to being with her again, was enough to bring my shaking fist to the door, knocking with as much restraint as I could muster. Which was probably not much, considering the cocktail of nervous energy, adrenaline and desire coursing through my limbs.

I waited, hands clenched against either side of the door frame, trying to steady myself, the envelope crumpling in the fist I was forming around the woodwork. All thought of taking baby steps in this relationship were long gone, scattered easily by memories of kissing Bella.

I closed my eyes, sucking a deep breath into my lungs, trying to keep myself in check. The last thing I wanted to do was have a meltdown in the hallway outside Bella's hotel room.

"Hey." Bella's tentative voice broke through the fog I had descended into, my head snapping up to find her standing in the open doorway, eyeing me speculatively. I had no idea how long she had been there, but I was sure it was probably long enough for her to think I was mental. I waited for her to close the door in my face. Her eyes flickered briefly down, and back up to mine, breaking into an easy smile as she leaned against the edge of the open door.

"Are you planning on coming in?" Bella tilted her head, emphasizing the invitation.

I walked into her room on shaky legs, following silently as Bella slipped past, leading me in. I fixated on the gentle sway of her hips as she moved, afraid of saying something that might heighten the awkwardness, I wavered, uncertain.

I had felt after my win tonight that my confidence was at an all time high, but in Bella's presence I was completely undone. Unsure which way to turn, needing to know what she wanted from me. Whatever it was I wanted to give it.

Instead I prolonged the agony of my indecision by fixating on every tiny detail of the room.

Carlisle had clearly spared no expense for his newest employee, putting Bella up in one of the Caesars Palace themed suites. It was nice enough, if not a little garish, decorated in bright lemon yellow, from the floor to the walls to the canopy over the large, white bed that dominated the room.

This space was a minefield for my imagination. Every furtive glance at the bed, at Bella, at the large bath partly hidden behind a thick white curtain, all illuminated in the soft glow of the bedside lamps, had my mind reeling in a multitude of different but equally erotic directions.

The silence stretched out before us, neither of us prepared to make small talk. This was a side of Bella I was unfamiliar with. The confident, striking and self-assured Bella, striding into action, was the one I thought I was beginning to understand. This Bella was new. Her nervous movements revealed something more, a secret side, glimpsed for the first time, a part of her that was mine alone.

I lifted my hand, running my fingers through my hair; frustrated with my inability to act when I needed to most. The sound of Bella's breath catching in her throat, exhaling in one short, ragged sigh, brought my eyes back to her face, needing to make eye contact, to understand. But no, her eyes were fixated, slightly unfocused, on something lower, the color rising in her cheeks, feverish. I froze, my hand still in my hair, glancing down to see what she was looking at.

There it was, one sliver of skin had been revealed, above the jeans sitting low on my hips and the t-shirt that had slipped up when I raised my arm.

My hand dropped to my side, I couldn't control the shiver than ran through me at the realization that such a small thing could cause such a reaction. I needed more; to know how I could make her respond, what would do that to her. The longing, the need, I felt for Bella when we were together in my dressing room came rushing back with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm me. I had to move, to work out some of the adrenaline that had been building, coursing through me, bringing every nerve to life.

"Bella." I raised my hands slightly, a small beckon, calling for her to close the gap between us. She answered without question, stepping into my open arms and sliding her hands up from my stomach to my chest, lifting my t-shirt as she moved. I could feel a smile pulling at my mouth. She clearly liked it better when I wasn't wearing a shirt. Her soft hands, caressing newly uncovered skin, left a trail of goosebumps in their wake as she slipped my t-shirt up and over my head in one surprisingly fluid move.

I watched Bella closely, drinking in every tiny detail of her, of her reaction, the intense concentration in her eyes as she slipped her fingers slowly through my now disheveled hair.

I was desperate for more. To see her, to _hear _her, responding to my touch.

My hands, still throbbing slightly from the fight, threaded through her hair, pressing gently, welcoming the soft warmth against my fingertips. I leaned in, my mouth tantalizingly close to hers, delighting in the promise of contact. But I stilled at the edge, teetering on the brink of losing control, waiting for her to respond, for her to push back. Her hands, still tangled in my hair, yanked my head forward, bringing my mouth firmly against hers. I barely had a chance to register the connection before she pushed my mouth open and slid her tongue teasingly against my lip.

Grabbing a fistful of my belt, Bella's fingers brushed against the skin under my waistband as she pulled me, willingly, towards the bed. Not to be outdone, I dragged my hands down her back and over her ass, pushing her against me just enough to feel her whimper into my mouth. I continued my path down the back of her legs, grabbing hold and lifting her swiftly into my arms, her surprisingly strong legs wrapping around my waist, pulling us closer, driving me insane.

I groaned, burying my face into her hair and drawing a deep, ragged breath. My fingers clenched tight around her thighs, savoring the heightened contact.

I carried her the last few steps to the bed, tilting her gently down, with all the restraint I could muster, until she lay sprawled out beneath me. I was dragging in uneven breaths, relishing the sight of her lying there, cheeks flushed, eyelids heavy. Running my hand down her thigh, hitching her leg over my hip, barely in control, on the verge of losing myself in the experience of being with Bella like this.

She reached up to touch my cheek, so tenderly in the midst of our urgency. In that moment I would be anything she wants, give her anything. I am hers. I skimmed my nose down the length of her neck, rewarded with another hit of her amazing scent; giving in to the deep rumbling sound building in my chest, taken over by sensations that I've never known before.

I ran my hand back up over her hips, across the front of her shirt, needing to remove the flimsy layer of fabric currently between us. Sucking in a desperate breath, I growled, frustrated at the inability of my hands to respond to the frantic commands issued by my brain, her buttons too delicate to work through each tiny hole.

"_Rip it_." Bella gasped, pushing up against the feel of my hands on her breasts, her hot breath caressing my neck, her hands grasping at my wrists for emphasis. I groaned, needing an outlet for the sheer force of her desire, clutching at her shirt, responding to the insistence of her request as I tighten my grip and pull; tiny pearl buttons bouncing like scattered popcorn, falling over the bed.

Exploring Bella's soft skin, exposed to me for the first time, with warm hands and fevered kisses; I could feel her muscles contract, her body writhing in perfect time with my touch. Almost unbearably intimate and yet nowhere near enough. I ran my hand across the skin above her waistband, settling on the buttons of her jeans. She responded by popping the first button open herself, eyes blazing, watching me as I continue down the line. I tugged at her jeans, sliding them down over her long legs, before throwing them theatrically across the room.

Bella giggled unashamedly at my enthusiasm, a sound more sexy than any other reaction I had elicited so far.

She turned serious the instant she saw my hands move to my own jeans. I watched as her eyes followed the movement of my hands, unbuckling my belt, pulling open the button fly. I stepped back off the bed, hooking my fingers into the waistband to pull them down, my eyes never leaving hers; reveling in the avid attention she was paying to my every move.

I climbed back onto the bed, crawling towards her across the white cotton expanse. She shuffled back, sucking in a sharp gasp, eyes wide, alert with desire, blush spreading across her cheeks, as I continued my path up the bed. I hesitated between her legs, making the final part of my journey with my hands on her skin, up her calves, thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, watching Bella's eyes close as she leaned back on soft pillows, her movements in parallel to mine as I stopped above her.

So close, I could feel the heat radiating from her flushed skin.

Making what I knew would be my last sane move, I pressed my body flush with Bella's, seeking her touch and the friction I knew we were both desperate for, running my hand down her soft thigh, my mouth ghosting over hers teasingly. She moaned against my mouth, underwear gone in a flurry of movements and snapped elastic. Bella wrapped her legs around me and I could finally feel every inch of her, warm, soft, against me, around me, as I entwined my hands through hers and kissed her more fully, completely. Nothing held back. I am gone, lost in her.

Everything fades away except her; there is no room, no bed, just her body and mine. There is only us, everything is meaningless but my need to be with her in every way possible.

Bella cried out my name, her hands pressed at my back, my body, and my mind, overcharged with adrenaline, desire inflaming my every thought. My tightly managed control had at some point completely lost out to chaos; gentle kisses have become powerful and urgent, placed at random over her body.

As we move together, I tried to capture every detail; the feel of her body against mine, the way her pale skin has flushed pink, the tickle of her breath against my face as she whimpered at my touch. My fevered mind could barely hold these moments clear, distinct, combining in a whirl of senses and emotions that my body didn't feel equipped to contain.

Wanting more, desperate to feel the weight of her body pressing down on me, I slipped my hands around Bella's back, leaning back and bringing her with me, onto my lap. My mouth returned to hers briefly, before pressing furtive kisses over every inch of skin I can reach. Bella moved on top of me as I slid my lips down her neck, onto her collarbone, my hands tracing the understated curve of her hips, our bodies moving in a perfect rhythm. I tried to focus, to steady my ragged breath as our tempo increased but instead I groaned uncontrollably, pushing my face into her neck, pulling her even tighter against me.

"Bella." I could barely speak, couldn't think, only aware that I needed to say her name, with an urgency that overwhelmed everything else. I didn't know how I sounded, didn't care. She was all I cared about. All I would ever care about.

I longed to savor every sharp intake of breath, each small murmur of passion and throaty cry I could hear coming from Bella's mouth, to live in that moment forever. To never lose the delicious, staggering feel of being with her, inside her, as we pushed each other to the brink.

It was no use, I was made powerless as she grabbed my thighs, fingers digging in to hot skin, arching her back and tilting her head, her chest pushing hard against me as she cried out, calling my name. Her muscles tightening, shuddering throughout her body, out of control. Everything tumbled together. Losing myself, unraveling, ecstasy spreading like fire from the center of my stomach into every nerve in my body, almost too much to endure.

I shook with the intensity, muscles weak. A small, almost imperceptible, whimper managed to penetrate the haze of my euphoria as I felt Bella pulling me in close. I ran an adoring hand down her back, kissing her below her ear, eliciting a shiver, before returning her gently to the soft bed beneath us.

Everything had somehow become hyper-real, sharpening to crystal clear focus. I could hear every noise, from the hum of the mini bar to Bella's breathing, which she was struggling to bring under control, her eyes closed, mouth slightly parted and turned up in a small smile. I couldn't help but grin in response, an instant and instinctual reaction to her pleasure, as I studied her body, covered in a fine sheen of sweat.

I briefly considered whether I should be acting nonchalant, unsure if this was just going to just be tonight; instead I kissed her again and again, cherishing each one as if it was the last time I would get the chance.

"I didn't realize it would be like that." Bella said, breaking the silence.

I pulled back; halting the path of kisses I had been making down Bella's neck, worried I had done something wrong.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… wow." Her face broke into the most incredible smile, taking my hand that had been resting on her stomach and rolling onto her side, pulling me into an embrace.

Although it was sweltering, her body, still as hot as a furnace, felt silky smooth against my own. I became irrationally afraid that moving even a fraction would sever our newly reaffirmed bond.

I wanted to say more, tell her how I felt, but I realized with amusement that she had already fallen asleep. Hair splayed haphazardly across the pillows, small hands clutching mine.

I stayed awake long after her, watching the deep rise and fall of her breathing, steady as a metronome, before the hypnotic pace, the lure of holding her as I slipped into sleep called too strongly to deny.

I couldn't tell how much time had passed when I woke, but I was calm, rested, aware that it was the deepest night of sleep I'd had in years. Bella was still curled against my body, my arm resting along her thigh, the softness of her skin under my hands a pleasant reminder that the previous night had actually happened.

Bella stirred, her voice still heavy with sleep.

"What time is it?"

"It's only 6:30." I don't know why I passed it off like it was early; I had usually been in the gym for 90 minutes by that time of the morning. It was a post fight day though, so I had a couple of days off to let the body recuperate, to avoid exertion. That hadn't gone well so far.

"Hmm." She wiggled around restlessly, rolling to her back and stretching out, the covers slipping down. I was unsure if I should be looking appreciatively or averting my eyes modestly, but in the end it was impossible to look away.

"I need coffee," she said sitting up, obviously unconcerned about where my eyes might be lingering. I smiled, my hand drawing circles in the small of her back, raising goose bumps instantly. I loved having that affect on her.

"What is it with you and coffee?"

"I don't understand." Bella turned to face me, feigning innocence, but I was finding it hard to take her seriously, sitting there naked, indignant. I tried to raise my arm to touch her, but she batted my hand away playfully, adopting a stern expression that was too cute for words.

"A world without caffeine is meaningless to me."

"Sounds like a tagline," I joked, trying again to bring my hand up to stroke her arm, instead she grabbed my hand in hers, tangling our fingers together.

"Well, I am in marketing." Bella leaned over me, planting soft kisses on my face. "Coffee is essential to living. Didn't you know?" Her hand was running down my chest, nearing the point at my waist currently covered by the sheet.

I was losing the ability to think rationally.

"I'm just not sure where it all goes. I mean, take that coffee you were buying the day you called me to organize meeting here-"

"-Whoa. Wait a minute," Bella's hand stilled on its path down my body. "How do you know what kind of coffee I was drinking then?"

It was such a rookie mistake. I figured there was no point in lying about it.

"I was in the diner across the street when you called. I noticed you about half way through the conversation." That was almost true.

"Did you, now? You could have come and spoken to me, you know." I let go of the breath I'd been holding, relieved that she seemed amused rather than horrified that I had been watching her.

"It's not exactly easy to talk to someone like you." I still thought it was a miracle things had progressed as far as they had. Her mouth curled up into a smile that made my heart skip, made me struggle to keep my cool.

"Flattery like that will get you everywhere, Mr Cullen."

"Good." I said pulling her back to the bed and kissing her again. Bella giggled against my neck as I brushed soft kisses across her shoulder, stroking my hands down her arms, relishing the feel of her mouth on my skin as she hummed with pleasure. Pulling away from me, she began exploring my body with her hand, following the trail of her fingertips with her eyes.

I tensed when I felt Bella's fingers still, deliberately, over the first of a scattered mess of tiny scars that littered my left side, across the ribcage and down to my stomach. She paused, raising her head up to look at me, her eyes clearly full of questions she had been hesitating to ask for some time, her expression so uncertain I wasn't sure I could deny her answers.

"How did you get these?"

She spoke softly, fingers trailing across each tiny scar.

"The ones on your back and here on your chest and your shoulder, they're quite faint, like patches of small scratches, but here…"

Her hand settled, tenderly, over the deepest line, where it made its angry path across a few inches of my left side, at the base of my ribcage; its presence, which I usually made a great effort to ignore, undeniable under her intense scrutiny. Her careful, gentle touch tickled, the muscles beneath her hand twitched in response.

I was frozen in place, cursing my stupidity, at how naïve I was to think that I would get into a situation like this, where we were sharing so much, and not have to talk about _that_.

"It's nothing, I had an accident a few years ago." That was as much detail as I was prepared to give on the subject.

"Must have been serious." Her hand tightened over the scar, protective, as though she could magically remove its presence by touch alone.

"Yeah, it's not something I talk about a lot."

If Bella pushed the point I would be forced to confront it. She looked more intently into my eyes, searching, trying to read what was hidden there. I wavered, but she only smiled, pressed one emphatic kiss over the scar where her hand had just been and sat up, decisive.

"Seriously though, Edward. _Coffee_." She glanced down the length of my exposed chest once more, before climbing out of the bed in search of clothes.

"I won't be functioning before long if I don't get some coffee. And soon."

I watched as she moved around the room collecting underwear, jeans, discarded in the frenzy of last night, now reclaimed. When she found her shirt, she lifted up the tattered remains and looked at me pointedly. I couldn't help but grin, aware of the buttons still scattered around the room like individual merit badges. I leaned over to grab my t-shirt from its current resting place on the floor beside the bed and tossed it to her. She caught it easily, slipping it on in favor of finding something else of her own to wear. She looked unbelievably hot in it. I had to bite back the litany of comments that sprang to mind as I watched her, clutching for some more neutral conversation.

"You'll have to meet my friend Jake, he'll love you."

"Jake?"

"He runs a small art gallery, dabbles in art dealing. I've known him for years. Emmett has too. I think you'll love his place."

"How do you and Emmett befriend someone who runs an art gallery?" She seemed shocked by the idea that we might run in the same circles as someone like Jake. It was true, these days it would be unlikely, but things had been quite different when we met.

"Long story." I rolled over, starting the process of convincing my body it should be getting dressed.

"You're full of things you won't talk about aren't you?"

"It's not that…" I had no response. It was true after all. I had always lived in my own head, but recently there was a growing list of things I preferred not to have to deal with. I shrugged, trying to be casual, to sell the idea that I was just boring.

"… I just don't really do anything worth talking about. Let's talk about you."

"Subtle, Edward. But ok, fire away." She smiled, pulling the tangled mess that I had made of her hair, tying it away from her face, exposing the long line of her neck. There was only one question I really wanted to ask.

"Why work for Carlisle?"

"Well, my family are from Chicago. I'd just finished my internship with a small promotions company in New York when I found out about the Cullen Gyms opening. I figured it was perfect." She answered without any trace of hesitation.

"How did you get through an interview with him?"

"What do you mean?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "He was actually more interested in my family than anything else. After we talked about my time in New York, we mostly talked about my parents and growing up in Chicago. He was fascinated to know that my father used to watch your grandfather fight. Every match he could see, he was there."

I didn't know how to process that information. Obviously she hadn't had a chance to get to know Carlisle properly yet.

"I'm going to go get some coffee from the buffet downstairs, you can continue the cross examination for as long as you want when I get back."

I suddenly, desperately, didn't want her to leave the room.

"But there's instant here in the room."

"I'm going to go get some _real_ coffee." Bella leaned down over me, offering one parting kiss before leaving the room. In the fresh emptiness, I wondered vaguely what the difference was, realizing that I was going to have to read up on coffee when I had the time.

For the first time since I met Bella, things finally seemed to be looking up. I couldn't deny that there were still problems, mostly to do with everyone else in my life, but after last night they seemed to fade somehow, feeling less significant than before.

I turned on the TV to kill some time while I waited for Bella, flicking aimlessly through the channels, nothing providing a sufficient distraction from thoughts of her. Vivid images sprang impossibly to the surface, sensory memories triggered by the feel of Bella's bed beneath me. But as TV shows came and went, and I realized that twenty minutes had become forty and then an hour had passed and Bella had still not returned, panic set in.

I had done something wrong I was sure of it. She wasn't going to come back.

Trying to convince myself that it couldn't be the case, that she was out there somewhere, dressed in my clothing and for whatever reason couldn't come back. I mulled over possibilities, none of them good, until I decided I had to find her.

There was only so long I could stay dug in.

I opened the door slightly, head-checking the corridor before returning to my room, moving faster than when I had arrived the night before, praying I didn't run into anyone I knew. Breathing a sigh of relief when I reached the safety of my own room.

I threw on another t-shirt, picking one at random from the assortment in my open luggage on the bed. Bella had gone and not come back, that was obvious, but the only way to know what had happened was to see if she was still getting her coffee from the buffet.

I should have known what it was that had kept her from coming back upstairs. But foolishly, I was unprepared as I arrived at the buffet, walking into a portrait of my own personal hell, painted with precision by Carlisle Cullen.

Across the crowded room I could see Bella sitting in a booth, flanked on one side by Carlisle and the other by Jasper and Emmett. Carlisle talking almost animatedly while Emmett devoured a large assortment of eggs, bacon and a tower of pancakes, both Jasper and Bella nursing cups of coffee, watching Emmett with fascination.

She looked completely at ease, occasionally noting things down on a small pad of paper, smiling at whatever was being said. I wanted badly to know what would make Bella smile like that and with that pang of longing came the awareness that I had never felt so removed from my family; the desire to join them surprised me.

I wondered if Bella's choice in t-shirt had been noticed. It seemed that Jasper had, judging from the way his eyes dropped to look at it, but he might have just been eyeing her chest.

That thought was almost enough to get me to walk over there.

I was on the verge of deciding that a conversation with Carlisle was worth the hassle, if it was the only way of talking to Bella again, when a shrill voice behind me broke my train of thought.

"Morning Edward, busy night?" I turned around to see Victoria standing directly behind me, haughty. I hoped she hadn't been watching me for long, as Aro wandered up to join us.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You must be tired." Victoria took in my disheveled appearance, lips pursed. I was about to make some kind of excuse, but I remembered that with Aro here I could wait half a second and he would fill any silence for me.

"Great fight last night, Edward. Putting him away in the second round. Lovely." I didn't even bother to reply.

"Got a lot planned for you. How would you feel about fighting again in about a week?" Aro led me over to the other side of the room, to a booth that seemed as far away from my family's table as possible. I dismissed it as coincidence.

"That soon?"

"Well, that match was a cake walk and you want to continue to move up those rankings right? Get some big ticket matches happening. Are you saying you aren't able to fight again so soon?"

"No, not at all, it sounds great." I didn't want to blow my chance this time, regardless of any misgivings. I would have to fight.

"Next fight won't be in a glitzy place like this I'm afraid. It's a fight night in small arena out in the Chicago suburbs…"

I sat there, listening to Aro detail the small arena I would have my next fight in, the words blurring together and melting into the air around me, watching Bella sitting with my family. Willing her to look up, to give me some sign of what she was thinking.

She tilted her head slightly, laughing at something Emmett had said, scanning the room casually. My chest flooded with relief when she looked at me, the last hint of a smile still playing across her lips. It was short lived. In the imperceptible shake of her head, the abrupt way she turned away to rejoin the conversation, it became clear; I had made my choice and now she would be forced to do the same.

For the second time in my life, I felt completely alone.

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**A/N: No glossary this week, I think it's all pretty self explanatory :-)  
**

**Although I realize it wasn't described in the chapter, Edward and Bella practice safe sex.**

**Finally, I know I mention it a lot but if you are reading please leave a review. Any kind of feedback is incredibly motivating (not just because I'm a shameless ego maniac).**

**Next chapter: We move ahead in the timeline a bit. Also, there's going to be a one week break before I update chapter six. The regular schedule of posting will resume after Easter.  
**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N Back after a two-week break. We're picking up the story about six moths after Vegas. **

**Thanks again to all the lovely people who have taken the time to leave reviews, it's greatly appreciated. And of course thanks to my beta The Red Fairy.**

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**Chapter 6**

_My hand tightened around her hip, the fine material of her skirt gathering into my fist as I pulled us closer together. Hot breath tickled my face as she whispered my name against my mouth, sucking my bottom lip between her teeth. I groaned, trying not to lose it as her body responded to mine, her back arching up to heighten the contact between us, pressed tight, nowhere left to go but the wall behind her._

_The cheers of the crowd echoed through the corridor, reacting to the blows being landed in the ring, reminding us that we weren't alone. That someone might come down here at any moment. _

_I only had a few more minutes with her and I was going to make them count. _

"Focus, Cullen!"

My attention snapped back to Marcus as the focus mitt he was holding collided with the side of my head. I used the contact to pull myself together, shake off the scatter shot of memory and reality threatening to tear me in every direction at once. Dragging my eyes reluctantly back to the center of the ring I was standing in, I could see Marcus getting increasingly agitated, focus mitts held up in front of me in anticipation of the punching drills I was supposed to be running through.

"Sorry." I was startled at how loud my voice sounded. The gym was quiet, the few other fighters around the fringes of the gym discreetly focusing on their training.

"Don't be sorry, be focused. Let's go again."

I nodded silently, starting back at the beginning of the preset drills we had been repeating all morning.

I had quickly adapted to Marcus' training methods. Shortly after defeating Riley, he presented me with his training bible; a tome of notes handwritten in a meticulous spidery scrawl, containing everything I would need to know about training with him. The extent of the information held in the pages of that book, and the emotionless efficiency with which it was recounted, represented the thinking of a very particular mind, leaving me in no doubt as to the kind of person I would be dealing with. Attention to detail, fastidiousness, but also vast knowledge.

I would never have a better chance at a title fight anywhere else. I knew that Marcus could help get me there and so far it was paying off. During the past six months I had been in ten professional fights and had won every single one of them. Sure, they weren't all technical perfection; one was stopped due to an accidental head butt in the 5th round and six others had gone to the judge's decision. Only three had ended in knockout and they were all late in the game. Still it was enough to take my tally to 14-0 and I now sat just outside the top 10 in my weight class.

"Again!" Marcus raised his voice as I completely missed making contact with his mitt. I started again as he nimbly zigzagged his way around the ring.

Having been in so many matches in the past six months had begun to take its toll. I was training constantly, I practically lived at Congrea and any connection I had left with my family was fast dwindling into non-existence, my time taken up almost completely with Aro, Marcus and Victoria. Every other moment was spent with Bella, when we could actually match our schedules. She tried to give me whatever information she could about what my brothers were doing and how Carlisle was. I had stopped asking Bella about them though; it was too painful.

"I can do this all day Cullen, can you?" Marcus' voice carried around the room, undoubtedly annoyed he was been forced to speak more words than he usually allowed in a day. "Go again!"

Bella, one of the few connections I had to the outside world, was a link that was feeling weaker with each passing day. The thought of what had happened in Vegas had been making my non-boxing life bearable, but it was no longer providing the same level of comfort it once did. We were stuck in an endless cycle of stolen moments; spending ten minutes in a locker room when she could slip away from the press, making sure I was staying wherever she was when we both ended up in the same city for an event, acting casual as I passed her in the foyer of a hotel when all I wanted to do was shove past whoever was in my way and grab her. It was excruciating to move in the same circles but almost never get to spend any time with her. Moments together were becoming increasingly infrequent and unfulfilling.

It was hard not to second-guess our agreement after Vegas to take things slow, to keep our relationship secret, when it had begun to impact on my ability to see Bella at all. I had agreed to the idea in principle but I hadn't realized how slow that would end up being. It was glacially slow, War and Peace slow.

I understood now what happened that morning at breakfast, spending the last six months picking over every detail. I knew she wanted to keep a level head about everything, that faced with the reality of the situation, divided between camp Cullen and camp Congrea the idea of 'us' must have seemed crazy. And it was clear how afraid she was of being the wedge in between my family and I. Like anything she did could possibly make that situation worse.

The conspiracy theorist in me couldn't help but assume other factors were at play. Had Carlisle said something to her? Even worse had Jasper? I knew if anyone would have an issue with Bella dating me, it would be Jasper. He would assume it was more of me trying to mess with the family. Until I knew that it wouldn't be interpreted that way, I had been just as happy as Bella to keep things under wraps. I couldn't bear the idea that they would think I was using her. In hindsight, if I was trying to be covert, it probably wasn't so smart to give Bella a t-shirt to wear that Jasper given me last year as a birthday present.

"Again!" Marcus' insistent tone barely registered in my mind as I raised my tired arms up to start the drill again, satisfaction spreading through me at the deep thud of my fist connecting with the mitt.

Boxing drills were simple, clean. It was what had first attracted me to the sport; the chance to clear my mind of all distractions, all the things I didn't want to think about, and just focus on the need to land glove to mitt, over and over, in endless combinations. Until now, that was.

Now I couldn't get Bella out of my head. Thoughts of seeing her again, thoughts of the first time I'd seen her, thoughts of what we inevitably ended up doing every time I did see her. We might not have seen that much of each other in the last six months, but we were definitely making up for it when we did. I grinned, forgetting where I was for a moment, before another one of Marcus' jabs to the side of my head brought me back.

Actually, my problem was more that I didn't _want_ to get Bella out of my head. It was a new experience for me. I was usually trying to forget, block the world out. Now I was happy to be completely consumed by her. The thought sent a thrill through my arms and legs, forcing the resulting energy out through my fists and into a burst of movement, each punch landing its mark in the center of the mitt.

"Better. _Again._" Marcus was relentless.

At first I had convinced myself I could wait for Bella indefinitely, as long as the goal was more time with her, especially more time like we'd had in Vegas. But now, after months of skirting around the edges of each others lives, grabbing a few minutes together whenever we could, I was longing to be near her, desperate, greedy for more time in her presence.

More than anything, I wanted to actually get to know her. With that in mind, I had finally managed to lock Bella into a proper date at an actual restaurant. A friend of hers owned an Italian restaurant and had agreed to let us eat an early dinner before they opened. It was a compromise, still in secret. But it was better than the no actual dates we had been on so far. While she was always in my thoughts, it was worse now, knowing that in a couple of hours I would be seeing her again.

I had been prepping myself all day for what I might say, how I could address the idea of going out together in public. At some point we would have to stop sneaking around. I just didn't know how she would react. Or how I would take it if she wanted to keep us a secret still. At some point it had to be more than just fears for her career, or for what my family would think.

"Stop, Cullen. We need to talk." I looked up at Marcus, surprised he was actually starting a conversation, and thankful he had diverted my thoughts from their more depressing direction.

"Talk?" I didn't know what to say. For weeks I had been running through a laundry list of things I wanted to talk to Marcus about, never finding the right chance to bring them up.

"What is it you think we're trying to achieve here?" He asked, pulling off the focus mitts and looking at me with the first glimmer of genuine interest I had ever seen cross his face. I considered his question for a moment.

"You're trying to condition my body." I paused, catching my breath, trying to come up with the best phrasing. "The intense repetition of drills are designed to be repeated ad nauseam in an attempt to internalize the move set, so they can be used almost subconsciously during any situation."

"Very poetic." It was the first time I had heard anything in his voice other than monotone. "Almost like… something you would read in a book."

I was blindsided by the insult, feeling my frustration building as I started to get a sense of where this was going. It still surprised me when he actually said it.

"Have you considered another line of work, Edward?"

And there it was, the attitude that I just couldn't seem to elude. I tried to keep my cool, but I knew that if my fists weren't already wrapped neatly in my gloves, they would have been clenched tight enough to crack rocks. I didn't expect an easy time with Marcus, but if I wanted to hear loaded, 'well meaning' suggestions of doing something else with my life, I'd have a chat with Carlisle. If I were going to avoid that path again, I would have to swallow my pride and give Marcus what he wanted. Prove I could do this, that I had been paying attention.

Story of my life, it would seem.

"Your training regime is solid, old school. Roadwork interspersed with extensive repetition of punching drills and bridgework. You give me notes on fighters before I face them. You have me spar against fighters of differing styles. We win. What more is there to understand?"

"Fascinating." He sounded almost sincere. "And why do you think it's so hard for you to put someone away?"

I tamped down my agitation, reminding myself there was nothing for me to justify. I had earned my place here.

"I don't. Riley went down in the second."

"Ha!" There was no trace of humor in his laugh. "I wouldn't use that as an example of your skill."

"What do you mean?" I couldn't even begin to try and play along with whatever game he was playing, no idea what he was insinuating.

He ignored the question, appraising me quietly for what felt like minutes before continuing his assessment of me.

"When you're able to focus, you're proficient at completing the drills I set out and I believe that you genuinely have an aptitude for strategy. When you fight, I can see you adjusting to your opponent's style. You're very creative, but measured. What I don't see..."

As he paused to consider his words, I just stood there, dumbstruck, hanging on every word; Marcus was engaging me in a real conversation. His tone had turned soft, almost resigned. It was the first time I felt like I was talking to the man who wrote that training bible.

"What I don't see is focus, and hunger. Real hunger, the type that your-"

"Ah! Good to see you two are starting to bond. How are things going here?" Aro cut in, materializing out of nowhere as usual, Victoria trailing along after him like the faithful disciple.

"Satisfactory." Marcus said, all traces of personality gone.

"Good, good. Edward, Victoria and I need to see you, finish up and come down to my office."

As quickly as they had appeared they were gone again. I turned back to Marcus, intent on picking up where we had been interrupted, my instincts telling me I had to hear what he was going to say. As though it was some essential revelation brimming at the edge of my mind, waiting to be nudged into the light.

"What were you saying before?"

"That you should focus. Let's go one more time before we finish." The tone of finality was unmistakable.

Recognizing the futility of getting Marcus to do anything against his own inclination, I looked for a clock to check the time, remembering that gym didn't possess one. I figured that Aro probably preferred his fighters to exist in a timeless state of readiness. It certainly sounded like something he would say.

I wasn't sure how long we'd been training but I wanted some time to prepare for seeing Bella. The closer it seemed to when we had agreed to meet, the less willing I was to do anything but be where she was. It must have been clear to Marcus that he wasn't getting anything more out of me; I was dismissed before we had even finished the first set of drills.

I didn't bother showering before going to see Aro. I was getting agitated, wanting to get business out of the way so I could focus on getting ready for my date with Bella.

I took my usual seat in Aro's office while Victoria perched on the end of the desk, staring down at me with her standard level of salacious intensity. I tried not to look at her.

"Remember that magazine feature article we did after Vegas?" I did, but there were more important memories I had been thinking about at the time. I hadn't placed much emphasis on that one. In fact I barely remembered what I said in it at all, except for a general feeling that I had been so boring it would be unlikely to ever go to print. Anything that they wanted me to talk about, particularly my family, I had carefully avoided.

"Yeah, I didn't think they got much out of it."

"Rubbish, they loved it and we thought you might like to know that the issue is due to hit the stands tomorrow. How about that?" I didn't know how I felt about that, but I knew it wasn't good. Media attention was the last thing I wanted. Not that my opinion actually mattered; I should have realized Aro wasn't looking for an answer.

"Also, I wanted to let you know that I've booked you another two matches."

Apparently one match at a time was getting too pedestrian for Aro.

"It's the second one that I think you'll really like." He leaned back, drawing out his Cheshire Cat smile again. It was unsettling but Victoria jumped in where he had left off, saving me from having to obviously avert my eyes.

"We want to take advantage of the publicity from the article, to get you a shot at the big time." She raised her eyebrow, looking me up and down, as though she was assessing my readiness.

I couldn't look at either of them, so I looked at my hands instead.

"Indeed!" Aro tagged back in. "We've managed to cut a deal with the Englishman Alec, he's currently ranked 5th and is very interested in being in a marquee fight." I wondered how Aro had convinced them that fighting me would make it a marquee fight. I didn't have to wait long for the answer.

"You win this one and your almost certainly looking at a top five spot. It's a big Pay Per View event that your brother Emmett is headlining at Madison Square Garden." That got my attention. I looked back up at Aro, trying to keep my expression neutral under his intense gaze. In waiting to see my response, Aro had paused long enough to allow Victoria a chance to muscle back in.

"The venue owners are very keen on the idea of all three Cullen brothers fighting on the same event. I hear they just locked Jasper in a number one contender's match against James Atkins." Her words were filtering in, half registered, as I watched Aro and Aro watched me. He was completely in control. Information fed to me like breadcrumbs.

"With you signed, the plan will be to promote it as a triple main event, a gala event, one for the ages: _Cullens cubed at the Garden_ or some such." Aro raised his arms to punctuate his booming voice, delivering the forced grandeur of the title.

"We'll let Victoria and the others work out the finer details of the promotion, let's not bore you with such tedious details." For the first time since joining Congrea, I was interested to know exactly what those details were. It occurred to me that Victoria would probably have to co-ordinate in some way with Bella, along with the other promoters and press agents. I wondered if she had spoken to her yet. I could ask her, if I ever got out of Aro's office.

"The important thing to remember here, my boy, is this: you win this fight and you're a bona fide contender. You've had a hot streak of success so far, let's keep up the momentum and win this one decisively."

"Fine." It was hard not to be swept away with the wave of enthusiasm Aro was peddling, but I had been working out and sparring all day and had no energy left for a bigger response. The thought of cracking the top 5 was appealing, but more than that I realized I actually wanted to see my brothers again. Any excuse to see them was strangely welcome. But it also meant I would probably have to talk to Carlisle. I tried to work out how I felt about that as I ran my hands through my hair, hiding my face from Aro so he wouldn't catch my uncertainty, waves of nerves washing over me.

* * *

I sat awkwardly at a small white clothed table, fidgeting with anything I could get my hands on, waiting for Bella to arrive with nothing but the curious attention of her scruffy restaurateur friend to keep me company. He had introduced himself with a keen handshake when I arrived, but I was so preoccupied with thoughts of Bella I had forgotten his name before I sat down. His surreptitious glances as he set up tables around me only added to my already nervous disposition.

Six months of little more than some intense but fleeting make out sessions with Bella, and the occasional reference to needing to find time to be together, had left me feeling like I was back where I started. Nervous and self-conscious, everything I did, down to what I was going to wear when I saw her, coming under my own scrutiny. I had called Jake to get his advice on what would be appropriate attire for what I assumed was a date. He laughed, mostly at the fact that I didn't know if it was a date, and suggested neat casual. I had no fucking idea what neat casual was, so I stuck with the bit that made sense: neat. I fussed again with the sleeves of my shirt, rolled halfway up my forearms, wondering if I should roll them back down, if it was too casual. A part of me wished that we were staying outdoors, where the Chicago winter would force me to keep my jacket on. Then at least I wouldn't have to worry about what to wear.

The jangle of the door marking Bella's arrival snapped me out of my obsessive musings. I was sure that if I had looked at my watch I would have seen that she was on time to the very second. I stood, bumping the table in the process, causing the unlit candle on the table to topple. My reaction time, worn out after months of endless training and fights, far too sluggish to catch it. Bella laughed softly at me as she moved towards the table, my heart pounding at the sound. I hesitated for a moment, wanting to savor the feel of seeing her when, for once, I was actually in control of it happening. The second I tilted my head up, taking in her flushed cheeks, hair pulled back loosely to reveal the pale curve of her neck, brown eyes reflecting her laughter, I couldn't convince my eyes to look away. The restaurant was suddenly too hot.

I hadn't moved a single muscle as Bella walked casually towards me, removing her coat to expose the most incredible blue dress I had ever had the pleasure of looking at. Long sleeves, clinging gently to the curve of her arms, plunging neckline, exposed collarbone. I was immediately thankful we weren't staying outdoors.

"I thought you boxers were more agile than that." Bella laughed, waving at the upturned candle I had forgotten even existed.

I struggled to find my voice.

"We usually don't have distractions like…" I waved my arms in her general direction, all I was able to muster in response. I went to sit down again before remembering my manners and darting around to the other side of the table to pull out Bella's chair for her. I wanted to be clear to her that I viewed this dinner as a fully-fledged date. I pulled out her chair, suddenly unsure of the protocol of whether it would be ok to kiss her, wavering back and forth, figuring it wasn't like we hadn't done a lot more than that. But it felt different in this new, more formalized setting. I felt like I was in the 10th grade again.

"Thank you," she said leaning in. I gave her a discreet kiss on the cheek, feeling her sigh against my cheek.

"Um… Edward, I'm not your aunt."

Bella laughed again, gently, like she didn't want to startle me. I must have been coming across like a total wreck. She took my face in her hands, stroking from my temples down to my jaw, as I tangled one of my hands back into her hair, studying her face. She was glorious. I considered the impossibility of the truth that Bella was mine and I was hers, my lips against hers punctuated that thought, making it real.

Everything in Vegas had seemed like it was going to be so easy, straightforward, uncomplicated, but those memories just reminded me that I had things I needed to say. I pulled away, the regret that I couldn't stay close to Bella like that forever gnawed at the edges of my resolve. What I really wanted was a book like the one Marcus had given me for training; a bible on how to deal with situations like this. I forced myself to sit down, settling for stroking Bella's hand, drawing my thumb slowly across each knuckle. I had to start a conversation before I lost my mind.

"How have you been?"

"Good. You know Carlisle, keeps me busy." That wasn't my experience while I was at the gym, but I could see how it would be for Bella. "How are you?" She asked, pushing the menu on the table to one side. My guess was she already knew what she wanted to order.

"Great. I've had a lot of matches since Vegas." Bella smiled, there was definitely a hint of mischief there, but I couldn't get drawn in, needing to stay on track with my plan of having a proper conversation. I glanced through the menu instead, avoiding the sly tilt of her mouth as she smiled, the blue fabric of her dress, stark against her pale, creamy skin.

"So I hear. Is it true you might be fighting at the big Madison Square Garden event?"

"Aro and Victoria are ironing out the specifics at the moment. I try not to get too involved in the details." I stopped to think about that for a moment. "Actually, I wonder what would happen if I said no to a fight?"

"You can you know, you've been fighting what, about once a fortnight?"

"Yeah but they've been mostly smaller, local events and the odd undercard match. This will be my first legitimate big time match." I unexpectedly felt the need to justify myself, even though I too was starting to wonder why had I been fighting so much recently.

"Still, you coping ok?" Bella asked, turning my hand over in hers, tickling my palm absentmindedly.

The disheveled restaurant owner interrupted us for our order, saving me from any more discussion of my situation at Congrea. I had no idea what I was going to order, but Bella's energetic chatter with her friend allowed me some time to flick through in more detail before choosing some tomato based pasta dish. I don't know why I even bothered taking the time to choose, I wasn't very adventurous when it came to what I ate, my diet not allowing for any kind of rich or creamy food anyway. Bella simply ordered 'the usual', giving me a little glimpse into the habits and preferences of her world that I quietly relished.

"Bella… I wanted to ask you about us." The break in conversation after ordering seemed like the perfect time to broach the subject. Or the most awkward.

She leaned back in her chair, thoughtful. I agonized over what she was going to say.

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to that."

I wanted to speak but she stopped me, squeezing my hand, at least some reassurance that I wasn't fucking things up.

"Edward, before you say anything, I want you to know I don't usually jump into relationships lightly. We both know there is a lot going on with you and your family that I'm not… well…" Bella chewed on the edge of her bottom lip, hesitating.

"What have they been saying?" The suspicion and hostility were fighting to rise to the surface, my ever-present companions when dealing with my family.

"No, nothing. That's not what I mean. It's just, you obviously have some things you're reluctant to talk about and I don't want to rush you. I want you to feel like you can trust me. But that's a fine line, with things being so volatile between you and Carlisle, I just want to be careful. I can't have that effect my job."

"I get that." Bella's preference for her job over me was starting to press like dead weight against my chest.

"But, more important than any of that, I don't want it to effect things between you and me." That was the last thing I was expecting her to say. My eyes sought hers, soft and brown, watching me carefully, waiting to make sure I understood.

"In some respects you are so sincere and open, but in others so closed off and secretive. I'm scared that if we rush into this, without any care for the consequences, that we'll both be hurt."

At some point, all my plans to make big speeches had gone out the window, Bella now doing all the talking while I sat there, completely floored by what she was saying. It was probably the hypnotic effect of Bella's fingers rubbing circles in my palm or maybe the fact that I was finally starting to see that Bella didn't just want me, she cared about me.

"Well, what would you like to know about me?" I was teetering on the cliff's edge, almost ready to jump, preparing for the fallout that would inevitably come with facing up to the things I usually ignored. Bella shook her head, her eyes searching mine.

"It's not like that, I don't want you suddenly baring your soul to me. The last thing I want to do is cause you pain. I just want us to be able to be open with each other, learn to be open with each other by taking things slowly. Go on dates like this when we can. Maybe when you sort things out with your family we can-"

I cut in, desperate to not talk about my family any longer than I had to.

"How about this? I have a date worked out – a full day of activities planned out. Places where-" Bella's phone rang, sounding the death knell of that idea. She checked the screen and sighed. I knew my time was up, once again.

"Sorry I really need to take this. Hold that thought." Bella stood, moving away towards the door, acting as though she didn't want to be disruptive. I knew instantly that she must have been talking to Carlisle. It was the only time she went out of earshot when she answered the phone in my presence. But this time I could still just make out snippets of her side of the conversation.

"Hi… yeah, just getting dinner… on my own… yes… no, I… hadn't heard about that. Really?" Bella paused and looked back over at me, while I tried to look incredibly interested in my cutlery. She walking back towards me, her face etched into an uncharacteristic frown, ending the conversation.

"Yes, no problem. I'll be there soon." Even distorted and muffled I could tell the voice on the other end of the phone belonged to Carlisle. Bella stood behind her chair, clearly not about to sit back down, watching me speculatively. I stood too, trying to restore some kind of balance that seemed to be lacking.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. That date sounds great though, can we book it in soon?" She looked distracted, I was nervous. Bella was always in control.

"What's wrong?" I busied myself getting her coat and putting it on her, to distance myself from her sudden scrutiny.

"Carlisle just got a copy of the new issue of Sports Monthly." Carlisle getting a copy of a sports magazine didn't seem like anything worthy of rushing back to the office so late in the evening.

"I thought that wasn't out until tomorrow." I was unsurprised that he had gotten his hands on it already. That was Carlisle.

"He has a copy now and apparently there's quite the article on you in it." My fingers clenched fleetingly around the collar of Bella's coat as I pulled it onto her shoulders. The unease I had started feeling in Aro's office was spreading into every inch of my body, making it hard to stand. Bella snatched her phone up off the table and turned to face me. I kept my hands on her shoulders, partly for the contact, partly to stay upright.

"What did you say in it, Edward?"

I shrugged, still unsure why it should be such an issue.

"Nothing. I mean we spoke for an hour or so, the woman who interviewed me seemed pretty engaged by it all but I thought I gave a really boring interview. Definitely harmless."

Bella put her hand to my chest, steadying me. I tried not to get distracted by her hand, certain that she was working up to telling me something important.

"That's not the impression Carlisle got."

She reached up, planting a quick kiss against my mouth, my entire body still too shocked to respond to her. She gave me a quick, unreadable look before disappearing out the door, the bell that had sounded her arrival now sounded harsh and insistent, grating against the quiet of the empty restaurant.

I had to get a copy of that magazine.

* * *

**A/N Glossary:**

**Boxing Promoter/Manager i.e what it is that Carlisle and Aro do** - Boxing promoters and managers do differ. A promoter is responsible for organizing and promoting all aspects of a boxing match from working with the venue to sponsorship, to TV deals and paying all of those involved.

A manager on the other hand represents a particular boxer/s and looks out for his career interests. They work with promoters to get the guys they represent put in matches.

For the purposes of this story, Aro and Carlisle fulfill both roles. They sign talent in much the way a manager does and then look after their careers and also organize boxing events in conjunction with their staff.

Edward _could_ have not worried about signing with anyone to represent him after leaving Cullen gyms, but he would have found it pretty difficult to get booked in any kind of decent match without the kind of representation someone like Aro has.

**Accidental Head Butt: **Boxing matches are sometimes stopped due to a fighter accidentally head-butting his opponent and causing a cut or other injury that the referee deems worthy of stopping the match. In WBC rules, anytime a ref calls a stoppage due to a head butt before the start of the 5th round, the result would be a technical draw. Anytime after the 5th the winner is decided by the judges scorecard.

**Focus mitts:** The soft, flat pads that trainers wear over their hands for boxers to target in training.

**Thanks for reading – Going to try to go back to the weekly update schedule for a little while. If you are reading, reviews are always appreciated.**

**Next chapter - What exactly was in that magazine article? Edward finds out at Jake's place.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N Had some fun writing this chapter! Particularly the article, where I finally get to explore in more detail a few things that have been hinted at in previous chapters.**

**Thanks to all those reading and thanks again to my lovely beta The Red Fairy who besides being a wonderful wordsmith is also a talented person, and I'm not just saying that because we're married.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

"_A young man enters the room, instantly commanding the attention of the handful of seasoned journalists all waiting to get a few minutes with him. He exudes an easy, yet unconscious charm as he walks over to me, extending his hand in greeting before running it nervously through his spectacular mess of russet hair. He sits down across from me, quiet, expectant. This is the man we see in the ring, taking the measure of his opponent before revealing himself…" _

"Is she serious with this?" Jake shook his head, glancing up at me in amused disbelief. Taking, I felt, a little too much pleasure in what I could only describe as the most embarrassing article ever written about me. "I don't know, E. You are good, but I think she's giving you a little too much credit."

I pulled my hand back through my hair, stopping halfway, acutely aware of my mannerisms now that they had been brought so painfully to my attention. I let my hand fall back to the arm of the chair that I was currently trying to disappear into.

"Keep reading, Jake. Surely it's got to get better."

He shrugged, his expression clearly contradicting my optimism as he read ahead.

"_Looking more the Calvin Klein model than the hardened pugilist, Edward Cullen, 20, still fresh to the world of professional boxing, represents a new generation of competitor. One full of contradictions. _

_His shy jade eyes compliment the gentle, deliberate tone of his voice, yet each word he speaks carries with it a sense of gravitas well beyond his years. In the ring he is calculated and persistent; his two round win at Caesars Palace in Las Vegas revealing a sense of ferocity at odds with his reserved exterior._

"They obviously haven't seen any of my matches since Vegas." I slumped lower in Jake's armchair, content to wallow in self-pity, my attention hauled back to the article by Jake bursting into sudden snickering laughter. He wasn't usually the type to snicker, so I knew it must be bad. He looked at me, making sure I was paying attention, barely able to contain his laughter, before continuing.

"_It is this decidedly appealing mixture of traits that has many placing Edward Cullen as the next big sex symbol of the boxing world."_

"Please stop reading, I've changed my mind." I squeezed my eyes shut, like somehow not being able to see might make the words go away. All I had wanted was to be taken seriously and this article was hardly going help me get there. Asking Jake to read it aloud to me was just the most recent in sequence of decisions that I really should have thought through more thoroughly.

"I don't think so E, you said you didn't want to read it yourself, but you're going to have to hear every single word. You've got to know what's being said or how can you defend yourself? And really, how bad can it be?"

Jake leaned towards me in his chair, waiting to make sure my outburst was over before continuing his dramatic reading.

"_Cullen, a third generation fighter, comes from a family of Chicago born and bred boxing royalty. His grandfather was a multi time champion and inspiration to his community and his father resisted the urge to lace on the gloves but honored the legacy by shaping the next generation into winners, including his own son, and Edward's older brother, Emmett. Yet Edward Cullen shocked the boxing world when he boldly broke away from family tradition, with the sudden and public announcement that he would be leaving his father's representation. Within 24 hours he had signed with Cullen's most competitive rivals, Congrea Gyms, and in that moment his real career was born._

"_I needed a change," Edward explains, a hint of fire growing in his eyes. It's impossible not to get excited with him. "In the first year of a professional fighter's career, you'd usually have what, maybe five, six, seven or more matches? I had one. One." He emphasized, looking directly into my eyes for the first time since the interview started. "And it sure didn't look like I was about to get any more."_

_The gym Edward now calls home…"_

The teasing, overly dramatic reading Jake had been conducting was fast dissipating, his brow furrowing into a scowl as he read.

"…_is run with passion by fast spoken, keenly intelligent promoter Aro. It's an honest to goodness, back to basics training ground. A self-professed showman, Aro says his formula to success is far from complicated._

"_Its simple really, people go into those arenas paying hard earned money and that comes with a certain level of expectation. They want to see quality bouts; they want to see 'A' grade examples of human conditioning, to see men who are able to withstand being pushed past the absolute brink of their physical limits. What I am able to provide them with are warriors who are able to put on showcases of technical prowess. Unlike some people in this business, I don't believe in keeping fighters like Edward hidden from the public eye. It's their right as a paying audience to choose who they come to see, anything short of that is an insult."_

I sucked in a breath, Aro's words drifted around me, hanging in the air, taunting me to acknowledge their true meaning. Forcing me to confront the reality of the situation that I was in. I tried not to look at Jake, picking at the blanket hanging over the back of the chair instead, but I could feel his eyes burning into me. We both knew that Aro calling Carlisle out like that, his willingness to use me as leverage to score cheap shots, was not going to go unnoticed at Cullen Gyms.

Jake cleared his throat, cutting the thickening silence. I couldn't look up and see the truth that I was now beginning to realize reflected in his face; couldn't validate what was in that article, make it real.

"Do you want me to keep reading?"

I nodded, vaguely aware of Jake's eyes searching my face for some kind of reaction. He attempted to stifle a sigh before continuing.

"_The conversation naturally turns to Aro's newest recruit. I ask him how he feels about signing someone like Edward. " Well, there are some guys out there, and some promoters too for that matter, who rely solely on their name, their legacy, to get by in this business, rather than earning it. When your wasting a top tier talent like Edward by not allowing them a chance to show what they've got, then you have a serious problem."_

The blows just kept on coming. It was becoming clear the more Jake read that the article had little to do with promoting my boxing career and a lot to do with Aro scoring points on my father.

I stood, abruptly, wanting to somehow tell Jake to stop reading, that I was done, but not quite able to form the words. I needed to take a break from hearing Aro's self-congratulatory boasting, instead taking the time to marvel at the details of Jake's apartment. I had been in here countless times before, but I never got tired of the relaxed comfort of the space or the passion and energy so unreservedly expressed in every work of art he collected.

This place had always been a sanctuary for me; somewhere to just be, away from any of the bullshit going on in my life. And so, obviously, it was the first place I thought to come when I realized things could really go to shit with the Sports Monthly article. I was desperate for the assurance I always felt when I was here, the calm it usually brought me.

On the surface, Jake's apartment was a exemplary illustration of the art scene and all its lifestyle conceits; a split level, open plan apartment, the bottom floor of which was a mishmash of vintage and modern art, punctuated with an eclectic mix of furniture that somehow managed to balance style and comfort, while the top floor had been turned into an artist's workspace. But in reality it was so much more, without even consciously trying.

In theory, the vast clashes in styles of art Jake had displayed should not have worked. He had taught me well enough to know that. There were examples of realism, figurative expressionism, photography, and street art sharing odd spaces around the apartment in a way that reflected a complete lack of pretentiousness, making it somehow work.

The hanging art was only the beginning of his collection, most resided in his gallery but more was scattered everywhere in the apartment, stacked against walls, sofas, anywhere with an inch of space became storage. I considered the level of focus and love that went into building such a collection as I idly sifted through a set of canvases leaning against the wall behind the chair I had recently vacated.

Every inch of the apartment was an expression of who Jake was, of all the ways he was open to possibilities, of his enthusiasm for creativity, his acceptance of the uncertainties of the world.

He embraced it all with a surety that I could recognize, but that was more than I could ever aspire to achieve. I caught myself again absently running my hand through my hair, cursing my own obviousness. I hated being pegged so easily by that journalist.

I noticed Jake stand and move silently over to a pile of vinyl stacked neatly against his stereo, flicking through and pulling something out to start playing. My gaze wandered past him to the towering bookshelves, overflowing with an odd but extensive assortment of genres, lining the back wall of the apartment.

My focus shifted, glancing up to the second floor before I could stop myself, my attention inevitably drawn to the artist's studio. It was an area I had carefully avoided for years, but I couldn't help wondering if everything was as it had been before. A long time had passed since I had been up there and I couldn't even bring myself to do anything to change that now, yet I felt a long ignored pull to revisit it, breathe in the familiar smell of oil paint, the texture of fresh canvas. The memory pulled me in, the joy of it tugging at the edges of my mouth, an overwhelming desire to smile at the ease of recall; how quickly it came back to me, how tempting it was to just give in.

I shook my head, scattering the treacherous thoughts, convincing myself that the sudden urge had just been because anything was preferable to listening to any more of that article. Looking over at Jake, I realized he was watching me carefully, speculatively, magazine still clutched in his hand.

"I can stop reading, E. If you really want me to."

I was so tempted to take up Jake's offer, but he was right when he told me I needed to hear it.

"No, let's just get it over with."

I slumped, admittedly a little sullenly, against the back of the armchair, not able to bring myself to sit back down. This felt like an easier position to defend myself from. "Go ahead, Jake."

Jake skimmed back over the last part of what he had already read, finding his place. The words cut deeper, hearing them again.

"…_What Edward has done by coming here is incredibly brave, his previous arrangement wasn't working, so he took a good long look at it and he made the tough choice. It was the only one that would make sense and it shows the kind of courage, perseverance and old-fashioned fortitude lacking in many so-called boxers. He now has access to the best opportunities, the best trainer and best representation befitting of his talent. He's taken care of here. We treat each other like family. I know he agrees with me 100%."_

_It's clear from his success to date that Edward has made the right decision in moving to Congrea Gyms. His disdain for his former management is clear the more he speaks, despite the family connection that is at stake in admitting to the problems he had at Cullen Gyms. _

_When asked for his opinion on his new arrangements, Edward responds with a self-deprecating, yet compellingly cheeky smile - something I have no doubt will become a trademark of this young man._

"_Sure, Aro has a great head for the business and I support him fully. I'm honored that he's taken this chance on me. He is an inspiration that pushes me to not only be a better fighter but a better person."_

Jake rolled his eyes, waving the magazine at me like I was personally responsible for its contents. I guessed that to him it was probably a safe assumption to make.

"Are you kidding me, E? Aro makes you want to be a better person?"

I cringed at the wavering uncertainty, the mixture of indignation and concern, in Jake's voice.

"You know I didn't say that right?" Even as I tried to absolve myself, I could see how this was still my fault. I might not have said those things, but I also didn't care what they printed. Didn't ask for sign off, didn't even ask Aro yesterday what the article would be about.

The wave of guilt that accompanied that realization consumed me before I could find any justification to ignore it, my usual emotional defenses too slow to react under this kind of pressure. With it came the awareness that Jake might not take my side here. I struggled not to panic at the thought.

"Honestly, I'd have been surprised if you did. How much of this _did_ you actually say?"

I let go of the breath I didn't even realize I had been holding, thinking back to the interview and what we had talked about. Or more accurately, what I had refused to talk about.

"Well, I said parts of it. I said I supported Aro in whatever business plans he has for me. I don't want to think about that stuff, I just want my next match. I also said I appreciate what he's done so far. What I didn't say was anything about Carlisle, I didn't make any comparisons and I sure as hell didn't say anything negative about Cullen Gyms. They never even brought it up." Which led me to wonder where they did hear it from, what had influenced them to paint Carlisle and his gym in such a bad light, but I couldn't bring myself to say that out loud. Not to Jake. He would instantly know where to lay the blame, as I did, but I wasn't ready to hear it.

"They had a couple of attempts to get me to say things about Jasper and Emmett too but I said I didn't want to talk about it."

"They? Who exactly was there for your interview?" Jake shook his head, clearly censoring his opinions, choosing to keep skimming the article instead.

"I guess at least you kept your brothers out of-" Jake stopped suddenly, his eyes continuing to read, brow drawing together into a frown as he scanned the page. I shifted from foot to foot, feeling the nervous energy begin to build, my fists clenched and unclenched underneath my crossed arms.

"What else does it say?" His lack of response was starting to unnerve me. "I mean it could have been worse, Jake…" I could barely even convince myself of that, let alone Jake. But he nodded, tossing the magazine down on the table, discarded.

"Yeah, you're right it's not so bad. Let's leave it at that." His rapid disinterest, the unconvincing attempt at a more lighthearted tone, was obvious, transparent. I hadn't wanted to hear the whole article, but knowing there was something that Jake was actively keeping me from hearing made me morbidly curious.

"No, let's hear it. Like you said earlier, I may as well know what I'm dealing with."

"I don't know E, I think you were right. Maybe you shouldn't hear the rest of it."

Jake was shaking his head slowly, not quite able to bring himself to look me in the eye. I was starting to get really worried.

"Out with it. Please, Jake. I don't want it hanging over my head."

He sighed, eyeing me uncertainly, before picking the magazine back up and finding the spot where he had stopped reading.

"_Edward's sudden rise in the world of boxing hasn't been without its complications and heartache. But it is in these darker moments that Edward is truly made the romantic hero of this story. Three years ago, the sudden and tragic death of his mother, Esme, in a traumatic car accident, in which Edward was also involved, led to his first encounter with the tumultuous world of the sporting media. I ask him about what happened on that night and about his subsequent interest in a boxing career. His eyes turn melancholy as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, taking longer to choose his words before speaking. It is clear when he does speak, that his sadness about the events surrounding his mother's death still lingers. _

"_I don't talk about the accident. Plenty was said about it at the time. It was, for a while there, a frenzy. That's pretty much the only way to describe it. It was tough on all of us, you know... Things changed with my father after the accident. I don't think he ever really trusted me again, like he couldn't let me out of his sight. I think that's why he never let me fight; it would be an understatement to say that he was being overprotective…"_

"Stop reading, Jake. Please…" They had finally found my limit. I was distantly aware of the rustle of magazine pages as Jake rolled it up in his hand; sure he was watching me again, waiting to see how I would respond. A part of me wanted to destroy, the other more rational part was glad that I was in the sanctum of Jake's apartment. I would never dream of damaging anything here.

"Edward." I rarely heard Jake so serious, all traces of the teasing laughter that had accompanied his reading gone. It had seemed so unbearable at the time, but I silently longed for it, infinitely easier to endure than his pity. "Did you say this?"

"No…" I was barely able to speak, my awareness of my surroundings slowly dragged away on a current of memories I didn't have the strength to deal with.

Jake was still talking but I couldn't bring myself to answer him.

"You know I would understand if you had said it. I wouldn't necessarily agree with your perspective or your reasoning, but I would understand."

The worry and pain in Jake's voice registered, but processing what he was saying was too difficult, my mind clouded with unwanted images, thoughts of the previous three years, piling up, pushing me to acknowledge them.

The sound of knocking crashed against the edges of my awareness, somewhere behind me I could sense Jake moving away. Relief at what I had avoided facing flooded through me. I was vaguely aware of the tension in my stance, arms folded, fists clenched, back turned to the apartment, ignoring everything around me, but I made no attempt move. I had long ago discovered that detachment, and anger, was the only weapon I had to help me cope.

"Read anything good lately?"

She was close to me; the delicious smell of cinnamon flavored coffee that tickled my senses was unmistakably hers. If I just turned my head and opened my eyes, she would be there. So I did, and she was, coffee cup in one hand, the other reaching up to rest gently on my rigid forearm. The muscles beneath her warm hand melted, my mouth slipping easily into a smile, happily recognizing the sway she had over me. Seeing her was like flicking a switch inside my head. Crushing angst turned to rainbows and fluffy bunny rabbits. Not having a whole lot of experience in the last few years with happy times, I could only assume that's what they involved.

"Yeah, this one's quite a page turner." Jake brandished the magazine, emphasizing his disgust with the article, before discarding it on his coffee table. What caught my eye was the fact that it was not unique; another sporting journal featuring Emmett on the cover, holding his title, caught my attention.

Bella scoffed, her derision for the article, and her calming presence, providing me with the jolt of reality that I needed to pull myself together.

"So, you've read the whole article I take it?" It was impossible not to cringe at the thought of Bella reading the article, but this time it wasn't the personal information it contained. I was more worried about the journalist's painfully obvious adoration.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?" She was smiling at me, moving closer, creating more contact with my body. It was impossible to look away, to not grin idiotically back at her.

"Edward, _no one _believes you said those things." The intention behind her emphasis was clear, telling me what my father thought, without actually telling me. It made me even more aware of the tightrope Bella had to walk.

I was surprised, and overwhelmingly relieved, by her offhanded dismissal of the article's contents. I wondered how she could be so sure of me, to be so certain, without even asking for any confirmation, that I hadn't just buried my family in a frenzy of self-promotion. I trailed two fingers into her hair as I watched her looking up at me, again forgetting my surroundings. Broken from my reverie only by the sound of Jake stifling a laugh behind me.

"Um, sorry Jake – this is Bella Swan." It had dawned on me that I had failed to introduce Bella to Jake.

"That's not really necessary, E. You've spoken about her enough in the past six months that I think I know pretty much everything there is to know about her."

I chanced a quick glance at Bella to see how she would react to that piece of information, making a mental note to give Jake some crap about it later.

"Plus we got the intros out of the way when I let her in." I stifled my surprise at that, wondering how long I had been standing there, semi comatose, when Bella had arrived.

"I hope everything you've been told is good." Bella asked sweetly, lifting an eyebrow at me questioningly. I smiled innocently, responding to her wariness by pulling her more tightly against me.

"Understatement doesn't even begin to cover it. Can I get you a coffee?"

I watched Bella glance from her empty coffee cup, to Jake's pristine and clearly unused kitchen, her expression skeptical.

"Why not?" Her trepidation at what would emerge from Jake's kitchen, and how closely it would resemble her exacting standards for coffee, was obvious. I tried desperately not to laugh as she scowled playfully at me, aware of my body shaking against her, giving me away.

I watched in fascinated amusement as Jake rattled about his kitchen, searching through his cabinets for some kind of implement to fulfill his coffee obligations. Eventually retrieving a plunger from the depths of some far, deep cupboard, he set it down on the counter and started rummaging for coffee grounds, before getting distracted by his phone ringing. The mixture of emotions that played on his face as he answered the call meant it must have been someone important.

"So Edward, I'm interested to know, it said on the article that it was written by someone called Shannon. Would that have been a male Shannon or a female Shannon?" Bella's sudden line of questioning drew my attention away from eavesdropping on Jake's phone conversation, trying to work out who it was on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah. I mean she was a female Shannon. Why?"

"Just wondering. You know, reading that article it was pretty obvious that she had a little bit of a crush on you."

"What? No, I doubt it. I mean, I wasn't really paying attention." I leant against the back of armchair, holding Bella close between my outstretched legs. My attention focused on the small of her back, where her waistband met her skin. I leaned in to her neck, smiling against her skin, unspeakably glad to see her.

"Come on. There was a part where she compared your abs to the statue of David. Besides being a lazy metaphor, but not one that I'm inclined to disagree with, it was bordering on unprofessional how clear she was making it that she was falling madly in love with you."

The slightly cocky grin was plastered across my face before I had a chance to stop it. "Are you _jealous_?"

"A little bit."

"So, hang on. What you're worried about here is not the gross misrepresentation of me, or my family who employs you, but that the journalist had a thing for me?"

Bella pressed her mouth together, trying not to smile, shrugging in an attempt to be casual. I laughed, startling Jake, who was still wrapped up in the phone conversation going on in the kitchen, glancing over at us in surprise.

I pulled Bella into a hug, silently enjoying the proximity.

Jake was still pacing around the kitchen, attempting to make Bella's coffee, snippets of his phone conversation filtering through the insistent sounds of the jug about to boil. "He's here now…no. I'm not sure…he seemed different when she got here. He's _smiling_... yeah, and laughing."

His back was turned, so I couldn't gauge his reaction to whoever was on the other end. I assumed it had to be Emmett; he was the one most likely to call Jake.

"I know." He almost sounded like he was trying not to laugh, but it was fleeting, disappearing as his voice softened. "Well, you could always come over here. You know you're always welcome."

Whatever was being said at the other end was clearly not what Jake wanted to hear. He sighed, returning to his endeavor to make Bella some coffee.

"It's not really like that was my choice, though, was it." The pain in Jake's statement was too much, too personal for me to bear witness, fitting oddly on someone usually so unshakably grounded. Someone who was always there to help me, without complaint, when I inevitably came to him for advice; the selfishness of my reliance on Jake was just another thing I couldn't bring myself to confront. So I returned my attention to Bella.

"Hey, how did you know where to find me?"

"I looked up Jake's number in the phone book, and called him, when you weren't answering your phone. By the sound of it, you've been talking about him to me as much as you've been talking about me to him. I knew this was where you would come."

I realized I had been so wrapped up in my own problems that it had been hours since I last looked at my phone. I hadn't expected that Bella would come to find me, make such an effort to be sure that I was ok. I wanted to tell her how much it meant to me that she was here, but the words stuck, unformed; sure I would crumble if I tried. Instead I tucked my finger under her chin, raising her face to mine and pressing a kiss tenderly against her mouth. She smiled against my lips, mouth opening softly to mine in return. I felt her pull away; regretting the loss of contact, I opened my eyes, questioning, to find her rich brown eyes searching my face.

"Edward, I know that really, deep down, the answer to this is probably no. But, are you ok?"

It occurred to me that Bella hadn't brought up anything that was in the article about my family, about the accident, though it was surely the most essential part for her to understand. Not just for her relationship with me, but for her work. I could feel a frown working its way onto my face as I considered. Bella would surely know the story, she would have been a media student at the time and it had been such a frenzy of local and sports media, coming so soon after Emmett's first professional fight, and win. But she never mentioned it, never even made any allusion to it.

As she ran her thumb gently across the creases forming on my brow, smoothing the skin, it dawned on me. She was waiting for me, until I chose to tell her. No pressure, no probing, or loaded questions, nothing but patience and some calm acceptance that it would happen when I wanted it to. It was the first time in years that I felt like I wasn't being pushed or pulled, or forced into something I wasn't ready for or didn't want, that the choice was mine.

"Edward?" The growing concern in Bella's voice reminded me that I hadn't answered her. I ran one hand through her hair, looking right into her beautiful, worried eyes and smiled.

"I will be."

It was still a few months away, but I genuinely hoped that by the time I saw Emmett, Jasper and Carlisle at Madison Square Garden, things would not be so controversial.

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**A/N:**

**So what exactly did Edward do before he became a boxer and why doesn't he ever talk about it? More on that in upcoming chapters.  
**

**In the next chapter we have a heartwarming family reunion as all the Cullen's spend some time in the same room for the first time since chapter 2. They should have plenty to talk about. **

**All three brothers also fight their respective matches at Madison Square Garden, with mixed results.**

**Thanks for reading – please let me know what you think by leaving a review.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So I was all ready to post chapter 8 and was well into chapter 9 when I had a sinking feeling that the story wasn't quite flowing the way I wanted. So, instead of the promised Madison Square Garden chapter, this chapter is actually Edward meeting the parents. Hope you like it.**

**Good news is that the next chapter is mostly written and will follow next week. Thanks again to my beta The Red Fairy whose general awesomeness is always a great help.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

I wasn't sure where to look first.

As I breathed in, an array of mouthwatering aromas assaulted my senses. I closed my eyes briefly, in anticipation, before returning to studying the picture perfect display of quintessential home cooking that lay before me.

Lined up in rows along the table were bowls of peas, honey glazed carrots, mashed potatoes, a steaming hot loaf of bread and slices of precision cut roast beef and pork. It had been a long time since I'd eaten such an elaborate meal, but I couldn't bring myself to care how it might affect my training. The tedious monotony of my routine of lean proteins and limited carbs was starting to chafe against the more rebellious side of my nature. The last of my resolve to stay on program was broken the moment Bella's mum, Renee, reentered the room carrying a plate of buttered corn on the cob, placing it in the last remaining space on the table, right in front of me.

My delight at the latest addition must have been obvious; Renee laughed affectionately, ruffling my hair like you would a small child, before moving to sit down. Since the moment Bella led me into her parents' house, her mother had been treating me like the long lost son she never had. There was clearly no 'get to know you' time required for Renee.

I glanced over at Bella, who was watching our exchange, amused, no doubt used to her mother's intensity and comfortable affection. Bella had convinced me to come here tonight, still concerned that I was spending too much time on my own. At least, I hoped that's why she wanted us to come here, since our time together was limited enough and a night hanging out with her parents for dinner was definitely one way to avoid intimacy. I had worried at first that she maybe didn't want to spend time alone with me, but only until we walked through the door and into Renee's overenthusiastic embrace. Then her mission had become clear.

Her master plan to distract me, and force me back to interacting with the world outside Congrea Gyms, seemed to be to invite me over for the full home cooked extravaganza courtesy of her parents. Both of who were in the process of politely skirting around any potentially awkward conversation topics. Something that couldn't have been coming naturally to Bella's father, Charlie, used to getting to the pointy end of any subject thanks to twenty years on the Chicago police force.

Regardless of her motives, it did feel a little like Bella was overcompensating in her attempts to take my mind off the article fiasco, my upcoming Madison Square Garden fight and the fact that I still hadn't spoken to my family about it all.

"Please, start Edward. I imagine you'd have quite the appetite considering all the hours Bella tells us you put in to training." Renee said, returning to the table. I wasn't sure what kind of appetite she thought I had, but judging from the amount of food she had presented I was worried she might have mistaken boxing for sumo wrestling.

"This looks great, Mrs. Swan." I wasn't sure if I should call her Renee or not, she gave me a puzzled smile that could have been for any number of reasons. I decided I definitely needed to track down a modern guide to social interaction and study it as closely as Marcus' training bible.

"Would you like something to drink other than water, Edward? We have beer or wine? That is, if your diet allows for that." I saw Bella's head snap up, worried eyes glancing in my direction.

"No, thank you. I don't drink." I said politely, breaking into what I hoped resembled a reassuring smile, trying to conceal my discomfort.

I was unlikely to ever touch alcohol again, but I wasn't really in the mood to get into that in any detail.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She laughed unexpectedly, covering her sudden awkwardness by passing me an unsolicited bowl of peas. "I forgot you're underage."

Bella quirked her eyebrow at me, lifting her bottle of beer to her mouth, relishing the swig she took with way too much vigor. Silently taunting my underage status. She was so cute when she teased me like that. I accepted the bowl of peas from Renee, serving out a token amount, knowing that I would be unlikely to eat them, and followed it with a generous serve of beef and corn cobs.

Bella, finding the peas far more appealing than I had, heaped large spoons onto her plate, along with an assortment of other vegetables and bread. It occurred to me that Bella might be vegetarian; if that was the case her parents were definitely in denial, serving up so much meat. I wondered vaguely if it was actually for my benefit, relaxing into the simple, natural comfort of being in their house and their acceptance of me, a feeling that was all too unfamiliar of late.

We ate in easy silence; I used the lull in conversation to return to fixating on Bella sitting across the table from me. I didn't often see her in more casual clothing but she looked gorgeous, dressed simply in a fine dark grey sweater that skimmed along her curves, and dark blue jeans. I silently considered ways that I could get her to stand up, just so I could see the way those jeans fitted neatly around the swell of her hips, thighs molded perfectly in the dark denim. I heaped more mashed potato onto my plate, trying to distract myself from the elaborate fantasy starting to take hold. Chancing a glance across the table, I caught Bella trying to stifle a giggle as she watched the increasingly ridiculous pile of potatoes I was building for myself. I slipped the spoon back into the bowl and grinned, trying to sell her on the idea that I had meant to fill my plate with mashed potatoes. She wasn't buying it.

It was refreshing to see her so at ease. I forced myself to look around; worried Bella parents would start wondering why I was ogling their daughter at the dinner table. Or at least not find it as entertaining as I did.

The Swan household wasn't exactly old-fashioned, but had the kind of unassuming simplicity and functional living space you would expect from someone on the force and a school counselor. Nothing went to waste and nothing was just for show. Thankfully, I was competing for Charlie's attention with the TV in the adjacent lounge, so he had missed everything that had passed silently between Bella and I. He couldn't stop glancing at the game playing silently on the TV, trying to be as covert as possible so as not to alert Renee to what he was doing. I felt a flash of camaraderie with him; trying to steal glances at his game while I tried to steal glances at his daughter. Although, I was guessing _he_ wasn't trying to imagine the object of his attention naked.

I could feel Bella's eyes on me as I tried to look anywhere but at her. Now that my plate was full of enough food for three people, I knew I needed to be involved in some conversation before my mind got any more carried away.

"Edward, we saw your most recent match. When was it, two months ago now?" Renee asked, breaking the silence.

"You ordered the Pay-Per-View?" I was mildly shocked that they were that interested.

"Of course, we watch everything Bella is involved in. Although Charlie would have ordered it anyway, since he watches all of Emmett's Pay-Per-View matches."

That made more sense. It should have been obvious that they didn't order it for my match. Emmett had a pretty strong following of fans even though the press usually fell back on the easy sell of making him out to be distant and emotionless.

"You remember when Emmett won the title here in Chicago?"

"Of course he does." Charlie said, entering the discussion with renewed interest, the lure of the TV forgotten. I hadn't seen Charlie that animated since we had arrived, when he greeted Bella.

"Yes, naturally." Renee tilted her head, regarding me, unreadable. It was painfully clear that she had a few things she wanted to say about the current state of the Cullen family; her instincts as a school counselor warring with her desire to not chase off her daughter's boyfriend. After a long moment under her scrutiny, she smiled, patting my left hand that had curled into a tight fist around my fork.

"Well, Charlie was there for that. Bella too." That was new information. Something that Bella had never shared with me, though the effort we both made not to talk about my family was probably to blame. Just another example of the ways my situation was messing with us. The very thought of being in the same location as Bella and not having noticed her, even amongst 40,000 other people, seemed inconceivable.

"Seeing your brother fight takes me back." Charlie said, finally becoming completely invested in the conversation. I quashed my unease at talking about my brothers, grateful to find some common ground with him. He cocked his head, considering.

"It reminds me so strongly of watching your grandfather compete. You know his style… " He paused searching for the right words. "It's similar, but more refined. There's definitely a strong connection between the two, though. From the couple of matches I've seen your brother Jasper compete in, he's entirely different. He has a bit more of that wild side your grandfather showed, particularly during his later years." Bella and Renee shared a knowing look, listening courteously, not offering any comment. I got the feeling these sporting soliloquies were a regular occurrence at the dinner table in their house.

"Emmett though, he's amazing to watch; graceful but forceful, powerful in his form. I wouldn't want to say he's ruthless, but there is a sense of method, pace and even art to your brother's boxing style. He's a pure striker, too. You wouldn't want to get in front of those fists too often, I would imagine."

"No, I guess not." I had never actually being in front of either Emmett or Jasper's fists. Carlisle didn't even have us spar against each other for training. He made it very clear he hated the idea, his belief was that boxers required a certain level of ruthless detachment from their opponent's welfare to truly excel, and that we should never be put in the position of needing to feel that way about our own brothers.

I had still spent countless hours watching training sessions and matches from both of their careers over the years, trying to get a handle on how they did it.

Charlie, having finished his evaluation of my brothers' skills, eyed me expectantly.

"Um. That's quite an accurate assessment of their styles," I ventured, trying to keep the conversation going, wanting to make a good impression but unsure of what it would take to achieve that.

"You have an interesting style yourself, Edward." Charlie said, ambiguously.

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear more about my style from someone so adept at cutting right to the point, disseminating my brothers' skill with such exacting detail. In the end, my need to hold some kind of conversation with Bella's father won out over my need for self-preservation.

"I do?"

"I've seen you fight a couple of bouts since your sudden, _prolific_ increase in matches and… how do I put it…" Skirting around what he really thought was plainly taking its toll on Charlie. I looked at Bella, who now seemed as interested in the conversation as I was.

"It's alright to just say what you think, no need to sugarcoat it." I said as my morbid curiosity surged ahead of any trepidation I had at what he would say.

"You've got some skill, no doubt about it, but from what I've seen you spend your matches either over calculating your moves or reacting with too little discipline. You need to work on finding the middle ground. But you have a bigger problem than that." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bella sink her face into her palms, responding in anticipation of her father's increasingly direct criticisms.

"A couple of times, I've thought you had someone where you wanted them but you backed off too long, kept your opponent in the game when I thought it was over. I have yet to see you display that killer edge, the lack of empathy for your opponent, which is what will get you to a title fight."

Charlie leaned back in his seat, taking another swig of his beer as he considered his analysis. I hoped for a moment that he might have been done. He nodded thoughtfully.

"I tell you what though, as far as endurance goes, I think you might be up there with Emmett. In all the bouts I've seen you in, you've gone the distance."

I tried to console myself that at least it wasn't _all_ bad news, struggling to find some way to respond.

"Thanks, that's good to hear. You know, I don't get a whole lot of feedback that I can trust, other than from my trainer. Who pretty much tells me what you've just said."

That seemed to satisfy him. I had thought that since everyone knew what I did, I would at least be spared from having to justify my chosen career to Bella's parents. Instead, I found myself getting grilled about how well I performed in that career, how I intended to keep it going.

"What's your game plan for taking out Alec? Seems like he's a bit of an all rounder that one, good defense and a solid counter puncher. You might be able to last 12 rounds, but if you don't put that guy away early, you're going to have some problems."

"Well, Mr. Swan, at the moment the plan is to move faster and hit harder and not let it go to the scorecard." Even to my ears that sounded like a hollow plan. I was sure he wouldn't be convinced either. I tried to seem distracted by Renee clearing the plates from the table, so I didn't have to come up with anything better.

"Come on Edward, you're dating my daughter. You can call me Charlie." That answered the question of how I fitted into Bella's life, in their eyes at least. It didn't escape my attention that he had neatly skirted around my complete non-answer to his last question.

"So let's say you win. How close does that put you to fighting one of your brothers?"

"Enough shop talk, you two." Renee interrupted, running her hands affectionately along Charlie's shoulders, turning to me conspiratorially. "I suppose it's easy to tell where Bella gets her single mindedness, and her love of sports, from."

She winked at me, her easy familiarity making it impossible not to smile in return. After all, I was relieved to be saved from further interrogation, not quite ready to think about how close I soon might be to facing one of my brothers in the ring.

"Edward, why don't you and Bella go hang out in the lounge while we get dessert."

In amongst the family photos and occasional piece of sporting memorabilia displayed in the Swan's lounge room was a framed picture I was all too familiar with. It was a black and white photo of my grandfather on his knees in the center of a boxing ring, his head bowed, pressing against the welterweight title cradled in his arms. It had been taken mere seconds after he had won the title for the fourth, and ultimately last, time. The fight was a famous one, my grandfather going into the bout as a substantial underdog, people had written him off as too old and too slow to keep up with his younger and quicker opponent. After 15 excruciating rounds, he had managed to knock his opponent out cold in the dying minutes.

That image of pure undiluted joy on his face, before he literally collapsed with exhaustion, was _the_ enduring image of his boxing career and the match that people still identified him with to this day. Carlisle rarely spoke about our grandfather except to the media, in relation to continuing the family legacy, so I never really knew how he actually felt about his own father.

Standing in the middle of the Swan household of all places, studying the photo that had been etched so irrevocably into the hearts and minds of boxing fans, the meaning behind it laying out the path that my brothers and I had all chosen to tread, it dawned on me. No matter where I was, or where I chose to go, the Cullen legacy would always assert itself into my life.

I'm not sure how long I stared at the photo, but when Bella stepped up behind me, slipping her fingers up under the hem of my shirt, pressing herself against my back, I willingly succumbed to the distraction.

* * *

As we drove away from Bella's parents house, I still couldn't shake the image of my grandfather, sitting there, living that instant where all expectations were lifted from his shoulders. Frozen in that moment of sheer relief at being connected to his goal. It was a feeling I longed for, what I had been working towards all this time, to achieve that level of peace only possible when everything falls into place. I thought following his footsteps, being what Emmett was, would lead me to the same destination. But seeing that photo had just given shape to the nagging feeling I had been trying to deny; that I wasn't going to find what I needed in the center of the ring.

Needing to shake those doubts off, too near to my next match to second-guess myself, I turned to study Bella. And for every second of the twenty-three minutes it took to drive from her parents' house to my apartment, I watched her intently. Her father had insisted she drive his truck, since it was still snowing outside and her car was woefully ill equipped for anything other than perfect road conditions. She was completely in control, hands gripped expertly on the oversized steering wheel, scowling when another driver cut in front of her. It was indescribably hot.

But after sharing meaningful glances all night over bowls of peas and potatoes, watching Bella slice bread would probably be hot.

I bit into my lip, stifling my laughter, as Bella pulled up at the curb outside my apartment building. I was instantly sobered by the realization that once again our time was nearly up.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked.

Bella had never seen my apartment before and I thought it was as good a time as any to get it over with. I had seen hers a couple of times, usually late at night and at times when getting the tour wasn't really our focus, but I had never had the chance to invite her into mine. I pulled my seat belt off slowly; drawing out the moment like that would somehow prevent me from having to leave her presence.

"I do, really, but I can't. I have to start so early tomorrow." She leaned over, tangling her fingers into my hair, sighing. "Jasper and Emmett have a promotional photo-shoot for the Madison Square Garden fight. The photographer wants them up and training at 4am, so she can capture the early morning light."

I could feel myself leaning into her touch, not wanting to leave.

"That's ok."

"No, it's not really. But, it is what it is." I hated when Bella got vague, tensing slightly as I tried to work out what she was really trying to say. She didn't seem to notice, or she ignored it.

"Shouldn't you be conserving your energy for your fight anyway?"

"Yeah I just don't get that much time with you I like to make it all count." I brushed the back of my fingers up Bella's thigh, rough denim shrouding soft skin, goosebumps running up my arm at the sensation.

She sighed again, this one different. Not resigned. Wanting.

That was the only cue I needed, wrapping my hands around her waist and lifting her easily onto my lap. She laughed, surprised at the swift movement but recovering quickly as she returned her fingers to their place, tangled in my hair. I rested my forehead in the hollow of her throat, breathing her in. My hands stroked up her sides to the zipper of her coat, fulfilling my need to revisit what was underneath, I pulled it slowly open. I shivered as her shallow breaths tickled my ear, slipping my fingertips up under the soft, warm weight of her sweater, over the smooth skin at her stomach, resting against the small of her back and pulling her tighter against me.

Tangled together inside her open coat, I leaned back slightly, tilting my head up to look at her, as she returned the gaze with dark eyes. Bella's hands tightened in my hair, her mouth parting gently as I curled my hands around he top of her hips, pushing against her, the confined space of the car seat working to force us together. Through the haze generated by her proximity, the rhythm of her movements, I registered a small sound escape her lips.

"Bella." I barely managed to choke out her name before her mouth pushed insistently onto mine, sucking my bottom lip, angling her head slightly, deepening the kiss. She ran her hands down the sides of my face, neck, chest, inside my coat, mirroring my own need to find more skin to touch, mouth following the same path along my jaw. I drew in a shuddering breath, desperation starting to dictate the path of my hands across her skin.

I was on the verge, teetering at the edge of losing control.

If my training had taught me anything, it was how to listen to my body, how it responds, and how much it can take. I knew that if I didn't force myself to stop, I wouldn't ever be able to. Groaning in frustration, I slid my hands slowly away from Bella's warm skin, bringing them to rest over the more neutral territory of the denim where her thighs met her hips.

I pushed back, gently. Bella didn't resist, knowing as well as I did that it couldn't go anywhere tonight. I still gripped her though, running my thumbs over the coarse fabric, not willing to sever contact yet. We both sat in silence, catching our breath. I could feel her studying me, her fingers winding their way through my hair in gentle caresses.

Bella looked at me for what seemed like minutes; a situation I was always happy to facilitate, especially if it meant she kept touching me. It was pleasant torture, before her I never realized such a thing was possible.

"Edward… I wasn't going to ask, but did you speak to Aro and Victoria about the article?"

I let out a long breath, considering how to answer her, surprised she had even asked. Bella almost never questioned me about these things.

"Of course." I felt like such an ass. She had the guts to bring it up and I couldn't even face her with a real answer.

"And…" Bella was persistent; I'd give her that.

"Aro said that it was all a misunderstanding. That a lot of quotes were taken out of context, that he had a chat off the record about some things and they used them without permission. He said 'you know these magazine types Edward, big stories about big personalities is what they want and if they don't get it they'll create it." Bella raised an eyebrow in response to my explanation; clearly as shocked as I was at how sarcastically I had emulated Aro's mannerisms and fast talking delivery. She probably also didn't believe a word of his excuses.

"Did you buy that?"

"I haven't really had a chance to think about it, since I've been training a lot. Tonight was one of the first nights I haven't been too exhausted to just sleep before training the next day."

"Edward. You can't keep this up, it's like you're in a cult."

"What do you mean?" I tried hard not to get distracted by the swell of Bella's hips, still under my firm grip, my thumb slipping back under her waistband to explore. She sighed, lifting my face back up to hers with a finger under my chin. I smiled sheepishly at her, but didn't remove the thumb stroking across the skin under her jeans.

"You're up early, training all day, you're socially isolated. If Aro offers you some Kool-Aid, I suggest you decline." She teased, but underneath the bravado Bella was genuinely worried.

"It's not like that at all. It's not just physical training anyway. Marcus and I watch a lot of tapes of other matches. Admittedly, it's in silence and we rarely discuss what we've watched, but I've gotten really good at inferring what he's getting at."

"The point is when you're not at Congrea, you're doing what exactly? Sleeping?"

"Well I'd prefer to see more of you actually. Speaking of having a busy schedule, Carlisle doesn't exactly give you much free time."

"It's not the same, Edward. My job isn't physically demanding like yours."

"Look, Aro, Marcus, and even Victoria, just want me to win the championship and are working me the necessary amount to get there." The second the words left my mouth I knew Bella would be able to tell that even I was starting to doubt my conviction.

"And what happens when you get there, Edward? Who is the current champion you'll be facing?"

The reality of that sat like a dead weight deep in my stomach, it was a fact that I didn't feel equipped to face. The closer it came to being realized, the more it terrified me. Not because I feared the fight itself, that I could handle, but something else, indefinable.

"Please Bella, let's not talk about this."

She watched me for a moment before relaxing back into my embrace, kissing my neck just below the ear, before whispering against me.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it all up. I'm just worried about you."

Desperate to change the subject, I leant towards her as she burrowed into my coat, trying to get closer to me.

"How about we spend the day together, like we talked about? We'll make a deal; no Congrea talk, no Cullen talk, just a full day of you and me with no time limits beyond our need to sleep at some point."

Bella turned to look at me and I grinned, knowing it was the best weapon in my arsenal of ways to get Bella to succumb. She lifted her thumb to my mouth, raising her eyes to mine, considering.

"I'd like to see what it is you like to do when you're not smashing your fists against large bags or other people."

She was still teasing, but I knew I had her.

"It's my birthday a few weeks after the Madison Square Garden fight. That would be perfect." It was more than a little depressing that I wouldn't be seeing my family on my 21st birthday, but at that moment even more depressing was the level of planning necessary to have a date with Bella.

At least, one that didn't end with us parting ways outside my apartment.

Bella smiled back down at me, nodding as her thumb traced my mouth. I ran the fingers of my left hand up into the soft waves of her hair, still grinning, the warm spread of anticipation coursing through me at the idea of spending an entire day together, and of the knowledge that she was about to kiss me again.

The kiss lingered well after Bella had left me outside my apartment, leaving me to contemplate Madison Square Garden, Congrea and the inevitability of talking to Carlisle.

Wondering how I had managed to make everything so complicated.

But at least one thing was simple. Soon I would be turning 21, and wouldn't have to celebrate alone.

* * *

**A/N Glossary:**

**15 Round Match – Edward's Grandfather comes from the days when boxing matches would last 15 rounds. Between 1987 and 1997 all forms of professional boxing eventually lowered the amount of rounds in title fights to be a maximum of 12 rounds.**

**Next chapter: The previously promised Madison Square Garden triple bill.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N While we were writing and betaing this chapter, The Red Fairy and I were listening to a lot of Florence and The Machine. I can definitely recommend combining the two.**

**There's not really much else to say except I think this is the longest chapter yet, so hopefully it speaks for itself. Hope you all like it.**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

My eyes traced Bella's movements as she slipped effortlessly between groups huddled in the overstuffed green room. Nothing brought out the networking focused, money hungry corporate masses like fight night at Madison Square Garden. I could see people, scratch that, _men_, turning to watch as she walked by but she seemed oblivious to it, focused entirely on her goal to intercept Jasper from the animated conversation he was having with a gaggle of reporters.

No matter how insufferable I knew those people were, Bella never faltered, or seemed bored. It was fascinating to watch her work. Infuriating that I couldn't be close to her. The constant flashes of eye contact, the narrowing distance between us since I had entered the room were tantalizing. Promising something more that I knew couldn't happen here.

So I stood in the corner, grateful that the crowds of people keeping me from Bella were at least also unwittingly shielding me from having to talk to various members of my family. I had been trying to avoid them since I walked into the room, but I was acutely aware of where they all were. They knew I was there too, of course. From the moment I had walked in, we had been locked in some kind of awkward 'glance and look away' game of tag. My attention shifted to Carlisle, currently standing on the far side of the room talking to a sponsor. It seemed that no matter where I looked, one of them was in that part of the room.

In case the last hour hadn't been proof enough, I knew that things were still unbelievably tense between us all. Mainly due to the fact that I still hadn't seen or spoken to any of my family since before the Sports Monthly article fiasco. Bella assured me that they didn't believe I had said everything printed, but I was sure enough doubt lingered in their minds, calling into question what I might have said.

But now I had more to worry about than just the article. Bella's warnings about Congrea had been easy to shake off at the time, when my focus was on trying to get under her layers of clothing, but in the cold light of morning they had started to take hold. I had to admit that I was beginning to doubt Aro, to question his insistence at keeping me busy all the time.

Yet the very fact that he did keep me busy all the time made it difficult to think that through to any conclusion.

If it were possible, I was now spending even more time with Marcus than ever. Aro was luring me in with the promise that if I won my next bout, he would move the rest of the guys Marcus looked after on to other trainers, making me his sole focus.

It was too much to try and get my head around, so I returned my attention to more immediate concerns; Bella. I was under too much scrutiny from my family to make any move towards her, but I was itching, after all this time watching, to close the gap and slide my hands around her waist. Laugh at whatever she was laughing at, and make it clear to the guy currently, and blatantly, trying to chat her up that she was mine. And I was hers.

I longed for that more than anything, to be able to let everyone know that I belonged to her. I was sick of seeing articles referring to me as the perpetual bachelor. It was futile, though. I couldn't act on that need. My fingers curled around the edge of the table behind me in an attempt to tether me here, where I couldn't do anything stupid.

My grip tensed, painfully tight, around the molded plastic as I watched Jasper stroll over and sling his arm so casually around Bella's shoulders. She turned to look at him, smiling openly as he whispered something in her ear.

I knew that trying to take Jasper on wasn't a good idea, but I didn't care; every inch of me was yearning to be where she was. They were standing close enough that I barely had a chance to second guess the decision to approach, to wonder how Jasper would react, before I was standing beside them.

Jasper angled to face me with the same speed he exhibited in the ring, his body tensing. Bella drew in a sharp breath as Jasper's arm tightened around her shoulders, defensive. It took all my willpower to stop my hand from reaching out to shove his arm off her. The sharp need to be possessive flashed and dissipated, in its place all that was left was the pain of his response to me; the hurt settling deep within, twisting inside as I realized it had come to this, Jasper treating me as he would an opponent he faced off in the ring.

As if on cue, both Emmett and Carlisle emerged from the crowd on either side of us. I felt their presence there before I saw them, and waited for someone, probably Emmett, to reach out and try and calm me down. He usually made the first move to diffuse the situation. As I watched Jasper, the pain intensified, tightening its grip, as it became clear that no one was going to try and talk me down, as they so often had before.

I couldn't look at Jasper any more. The addition of Carlisle and Emmett had only added a layer of protectiveness to the silent rage already burning behind his eyes. I felt a sudden compulsion to call Jasper out on it, question why he felt like it was his job to stand between the family and any harm. It wasn't like he'd done such a great job of it in the past. I shook it off, knowing it wouldn't do any good. Jasper was who he was. I hoped that whoever broke the silence first wasn't him; because I was sure I wouldn't like what he'd have to say.

It occurred to me that I probably wasn't going to get a better chance to be the one to speak first, to actually take the initiative and explain myself. I ran my hand across the back of my neck and slowly sucked in a breath, trying to stay calm and work out how to begin.

"I…"

It was impossible; the words caught in my throat as I looked into Carlisle's eyes, full of guarded apprehension. We stared at each other for long seconds, but he broke first, his gaze sliding to look just past my shoulder, a flicker of uncertainty, of worry, as he tried to recover. I watched, looking for a bigger chink in his armor to appear, desperate to know what he really thought of me.

But there was nothing. It was clear he didn't care, his eyes settled on something over my shoulder, focusing on anything but his own son. As I stood there, trying to work out how to bring him back to me, his face contorted for just an instant into a sneer, at odds with his usual composure. It was my turn to waver, wondering at the object of his disdain.

"Ah, Carlisle! How nice to see you."

Aro sidled up next to me, extending his hand to Carlisle, who accepted the handshake with as much decorum as the situation required and no more, simply nodding in acknowledgment. Not to be deterred, Aro turned to me, clapping his hand on my shoulder with overplayed affection.

"Edward. You're looking excellent, my boy. Ready for tonight, I'm sure."

The addition of the endearment didn't go unnoticed, but I had learned that most of what Aro said didn't actually require a reply, so I settled for a single nod, unconsciously mirroring my father's response. I stepped aside under the guise of making room for our new company, passively forcing Aro's hand to slide from its position on my shoulder. Trying desperately to ease some of the growing tension I could feel emanating from Carlisle the more Aro spoke.

I wrapped my arms around my middle, responding self-consciously to the attention that seemed to be focused intensely on me, as everyone waited for me to say something.

The moment I felt Victoria's presence beside me, her hand snaking its way up my arm and wrapping around my elbow, I knew that the situation was just going to get worse. I had somehow become the unfortunate common link in a group of people that should probably never all be in the same room together.

"Well, this will certainly sell some papers tomorrow. I can just see it now: Cullen boys reunited."

Victoria looked up at me, leaning in and rubbing my arm affectionately, before turning to look at the rest of the group, her lips curling slightly at the edges in smug satisfaction. I followed her gaze to Bella, who was staring at my arm where my t-shirt sleeve met skin, where Victoria's fingers had shifted around my bicep.

"We were never _not_ united." Those were the first words out of Emmett's mouth. I had to admire his indignation; it almost felt like he actually believed what he was saying.

I wanted to look at him, to see what he was really thinking. But I was too afraid at what I would see there, and I couldn't make myself look away from Bella. The conversation continued on around us while Bella watched Victoria attempt to lay claim to me and I watched Bella, hoping that no one else had noticed the exchange.

I tried to draw on some of the self-restraint I could have used earlier; to not reach out to her, the pull to be closer to her was overwhelming. I would have thrown aside all of the caution she so desperately clung to in that moment, just to be near her, without having to hide it from everyone.

Something shifted in Bella's eyes and it seemed, for a moment, like she might be on the verge of the same feeling. That this was too hard, not being able to show what we were, and what we wanted, that it was worse than any consequences.

Moments dragged on as I stared into her deep eyes, clear and bright, willing her to look back at me. All thought of the people standing, most likely arguing, around us disappearing.

Until I noticed Jasper look down at Bella's face, his eyes narrowed in confusion, registering the tension rolling off her, his arm still draped across her shoulders. He looked to see what had her so rattled, his attention halting along with hers at Victoria's fingers stroking my arm possessively. His head tilted back towards Bella, confirming his suspicions, before settling his gaze on me in silent recrimination. Resigned to my fate, I forced my eyes to meet his.

I thought I had felt the full weight of Jasper's disappointment when I left Cullen Gyms. I was wrong. Apparently there were even greater depths that I could sink to in his eyes.

Silently, I reached over and pried Victoria's fingers from my arm, stepping back, trying to find some neutral ground. My arms tightened around me as I tried to work my way back into the conversation, trying to make sure I knew what was being said about me. I wasn't falling into that trap again.

Unsurprisingly, Aro was speaking.

"Well, all three Cullen brothers fighting on the same card is a pretty momentous occasion. Hopefully it won't be the last. Although, I would hope next time it won't be against three _other_ opponents?"

I chanced a quick glance at my brothers to see how they reacted to that. Jasper was still looking like he wanted to tear me apart, in some misguided need to defend Bella's honor, but Emmett, for a moment, actually looked like the idea made him physically ill, before he neutralized his expression.

Aro took everyone's hesitation as his opening to continue the assault.

"Although I hear Jasper's opponent has had a bit of a snafu at weigh in." He shook his head, sadly, as though actually commiserating with Jasper's plight. "Good to see you found a fill in at such sort notice. Shame it's not a number one contenders' match anymore though."

"He'll be number one by default." It was the first time Carlisle had weighed in since this debacle of a conversation started. Aro's mouth settled into what I recognized as his indulgent smile, he'd used it on me enough times that it was forever burned into my memory. I just hoped no one else noticed the falsity of his gesture.

"Oh yes, of course, as long as he wins his _exhibition_ bout tonight. But I'm sure he can handle that." The emphasis couldn't be clearer; an exhibition fight would hardly be a proving ground for Jasper's worth as a number one contender.

"It would be a bit of an embarrassment if he loses though, right? That might cause the WBC to rethink the situation. You know. Come to think of it…"

I was actually, momentarily, impressed by how well Aro was pulling off the act that he was just thinking through the possibilities for the first time. In the end, the feeling lost out to the heavy dread of anticipation at where he was headed. The words were in my mind before they were out his mouth.

But then, they had been for weeks.

"…if my boy Edward wins here tonight I'd be _very_ interested to see what the rankings are. We might find ourselves needing to talk about a new number one contenders' match. Just something to consider."

"No chance." Jasper ground the words out through clenched teeth, his arm finally dropping from Bella's shoulders before walking away. The sudden need to follow him, to make it right, was overwhelming, but I was stopped by Aro's heavy hand on my shoulder.

Carlisle gave me one hard look before slipping away through the crowd after Jasper, followed quickly by Emmett leading Bella off to talk to the press; a move that revealed the extent of his desperation for the conversation to be done.

And like that I was left, held in place by Aro's seemingly casual but firm grip, trying to decide if Jasper had meant that there was no chance I could get there or if, when I did, there was no chance he would fight.

* * *

Marcus slammed down the stool just in time for me to land on it. I leant back against the ropes in the corner, struggling to get my breath back. The seventh round had just ended and the situation was not looking good. Alec had spent the entire match resisting and countering everything I had thrown at him. He'd barely offered any offense himself but landed enough blows to keep him looking good for the judges.

"Damn it, Cullen, do I even need to tell you what you need to do in there?" Marcus was predictably disappointed.

"Focus?" I pushed out between breaths.

"Yes! So, by God, do it! If this goes to the 12th round, you're going home with your first defeat. He's looking tired so he's going to back off and stick to countering. I want you to get in close, real close. Work over the body but save your energy for the big hits up top. You want to win this? Swarm him, be faster, be stronger and get the KO."

Marcus was right about what would happen if the fight went to the scorecards; Alec's defense was so tight they'd undoubtedly award the match to him.

It was the first time I had fought in front of such a large crowd, and particularly one so fired up. But I knew it wasn't the sea of people that had been making the match difficult. In fact, I fed off the energy of the crowd. No, it was the presence of certain individuals in the audience that I couldn't stop thinking about. I was sure Carlisle would be watching, perhaps Jasper and probably Emmett but I _wanted_ Carlisle to be watching. I wanted him to understand that he was wrong. To prove decisively that his disappointment, and his concern for me that I was still trying to understand, were misplaced.

The bell rang and I stepped out of the corner, dragging my mind back from Carlisle to Marcus' uncharacteristic mid-match advice. He had succeeded in fueling my performance with extra incentive, now all I needed to do was work out how to implement it.

Just as Marcus had predicted, Alec held back, matching my footwork as I advanced on him. Patiently waiting, he blocked my first barrage of blows to his midsection, his arms tightly deflecting the assault. I stepped back and faked a move to the right, moving back in to work the body over again.

The effort fell uselessly against his rock solid defense.

"Is that all you've got Cullen? You still taking measure of me before you reveal yourself, or you afraid of damaging those model good looks?" Alec sniggered into my ear, blocking three more punches as he wrapped my arms into a clinch.

I didn't respond, not wanting to give the smug prick the satisfaction of thinking his trash talking would have any effect on me.

Three more minutes of futile offense passed, only confirming Alec's mental if not physical dominance over me. I returned to my corner feeling dejected and nervous about what version of Marcus I would find there; the emotionally distant but wise Marcus that offered small pieces of encouragement or the emotionally distant, you're not worthy of either my time and vast encyclopedic knowledge Marcus. His first words made it clear it was the second of the two.

"Look Cullen, we've spoken about what you need to do here. Either do it or go home." The remainder of the minute passed wordlessly, as I tried to figure out exactly how I was going to achieve the knockout that Aro and Marcus believed was the key to my future.

The crowd surged, a small amount of Cullen chants could be just made out amongst the din of shouting. Maybe they were calling for my brothers, but I decided I'd take ownership of it regardless, drawing the energy in to fuel the next round.

Even though it meant bringing my brothers in too. I knew how they would approach this fight. Jasper would throw skill, discipline and technique to the wind and attempt to pound on his opponent until either Alec dropped or he did. Emmett would outclass him on all fronts, dominating in strength, skill and speed.

What I didn't know was what the fuck would I do? I was about to enter the ninth round of the fight and I still had no idea what kind of fighter I was.

The bell rang, the cheering from the crowd starting to build. They probably expected something big from this round and I didn't want to disappoint. Still unsure, I went straight into work on the body, throwing hooks at his midsection from both sides. Alec was prepared, as he had been for the previous eight rounds, smoothly blocked left and right.

"I wonder which Cullen I'll get next? Jasper? Or maybe I'll go straight to the real fighter in the family." Alec said between breaths. It was embarrassing how easily the bastard was predicting my moves, how well he knew where to hurt me.

I knew if I was going to get the upper hand, I had to let go of my frustrations, the uncertainties of my family, of Bella, and become emotionless. A void.

I focused on my breathing, shutting everything else out, relaxing into being empty of worry and fear, liberated. The screams of the crowd, always my source of energy, faded to background noise.

I dropped my arms slightly and held off a fraction, hoping to draw Alec out, moving in just enough to lure out an offensive blow. He took the bait, landing a cross to my right eye and an uppercut shot to the ribs. I didn't even feel them. I answered his blows with a series of strong jabs, one after the other like a chain of lightning. Once I started I couldn't stop, it was the closest I had come to how I felt when I fought Riley, but intensified by the absence of everything but purpose. I finished the blows with one critical uppercut, the kind that had behind it eight rounds of frustration and years of family drama, intensified by a new found will. Alec reeled backwards. They may as well have called the match then, there was no way he was coming back from that.

I didn't feel sorry for Alec, not in that moment, when I was divested of all my usual baggage. I couldn't have empathy for an opponent if I was going to pummel them until they couldn't stand up. I had all the tools to win the match; he was slower, weaker and dogmatic in his approach to defense. I had to use that to my advantage and finish it. For the first time since Vegas I didn't just think I could win, I _knew_ that I would.

Marcus was right, just focus. The strategy I had been using all match hadn't been wrong, I had just lacked the instinct to finish it. A sense of decisiveness took over, for every punch he threw I was going to throw four times as many. I wouldn't relent. I would force him around the ring, I would dictate the pace and I would end it cleanly.

I stepped in close, so close he could have wrapped his arms completely around me as I discharged everything I had. Hooks to the body landed intermittently. As soon as he found my rhythm and his blocks became more regular, I started working on his head; jabs and crosses, the occasional uppercut all flew as fast as I could manage them.

Sensing something was wrong, and now completely silent, Alec attempted to move out of the center of the ring, to force me back. I stopped him at every attempt, throwing more punches, forcing my closeness. If my muscles were tired or aching I didn't notice. My focus was singular. Sharp. I went back to the body, this time he couldn't keep up as I landed multiple blows. I worked through Marcus' combos; nothing fancy, only relentless brutal repetition, every punch landing soundly. He was done. Without a second thought, I delivered a blow with such force I felt the reverberation through my arm as Alec fell to the canvas, unconscious.

The ref started the count but I continued to advance, completely at the mercy of my adrenaline. The shouting of the ref, barely audible over the crowd, eventually registered as he ordered me to return to my corner. The end of the 10-count cut through the haze and I realized that I had done it; I had succeeded in delivering what was expected of me. Surging up behind that rush was the realization of something new. Something traitorous, creeping its way into my mind for the first time since I had started boxing. What the fuck was I doing?

I looked around, dazed, slowly regaining my composure. The ref was holding my arm up, while the ring announcer proclaimed me the winner of the fight. I heard my name, but it seemed as though the words belonged to someone else, not me. The closer I moved to my goal, the further away I felt from what I wanted. The crowd was on their feet cheering wildly, but instead of wrapping myself in it, I felt embarrassed and mildly ashamed.

I had to get out. Marcus held the ropes for me as I exited the ring.

"Happy?" I asked, unsure, as always, of the response I would get. "More like Vegas right?"

"Hardly." Marcus replied with no further explanation. I could feel my jaw tighten in frustration. My win, coupled with the growing unease I was feeling about what I had achieved, meant that I wasn't in the mood for Marcus' curt dialogue.

"Do you think you could maybe quit throwing vague responses, steeped with hidden meanings, at me? I'm sick of it."

"Fine. In Vegas you fought a second rate boy. Someone pushed into the ring too fast, with not enough instinct to know what he was dealing with. Not that dissimilar to how you usually fight."

I chose to ignore that dig, grateful that Marcus was at least explaining himself for once.

"Tonight you fought someone with real defensive skill. What's more, after dancing around him and being completely shut out for eight rounds, you showed the killer instinct necessary to win and you decimated him within a round. How's it feel?"

"I'm not sure." And I really wasn't. The cold reality of what had just occurred hit me harder than anything Alec had thrown at me in the ring. I had won a number of victories, but defeating Alec had being different.

"That's your problem to deal with Cullen. Good job. You gave it some real heart out there tonight."

I tried to thank him, but all I could wonder was; if that was true, what did it say about my heart?

The journey down the concrete corridor to my dressing room was quiet, despite the buzz that still surrounded the arena following my victory. The crowd was primed for the show that Jasper was most likely about to put on for them. I for one was simply thankful that I didn't run into him as I reached the door of my personal dressing room, one of six that formed a u-shape around a corner at the far end of corridor.

Before slipping into the safety of my room, I couldn't help a brief look at the other doors, playing the guessing game of which door belonged to which boxer. The answer to which was Emmett's was answered for me, as he walked out the door opposite my own. He was getting prepared for his match, working tape around his right hand as he glanced down the hallway, before turning to me. I tried to ignore the familiar surge of pride at seeing him wearing his red and gold robe, putting it down to the conditioning of watching him win so many matches wearing those colors.

"Edward, do you have a moment?" His voice was quiet, but cut through the distorted tones of the ring announcer echoing through the hall.

"Sure," I replied. The fact he was even asking was a big deal, and I couldn't deny him. On a fight night that had already featured more interaction than usual, I had predicted he would be deep in his usual ritual of mental preparation.

"Where's Carlisle?" I asked surprised he wasn't around.

"Dad's in the green room, watching the fights with some of the advertising big wigs. It's part of his job after all." Emmett was starting to sound more urgent, most likely due to the fact that it was never certain if Jasper's matches would last twelve rounds or one. I was pretty sure Emmett didn't want to be interrupted.

"You know he would have been watching your match too."

"I bet." I couldn't keep the bitterness out of my voice. Emmett sighed, returning to the tape he had been methodically winding around his hands, carefully choosing his next words.

"Edward, I've seen how often you've been fighting. It's too much, you need to think of the strain on your body, the risk of wearing yourself out." I oscillated between responding with confidence or anger, both warring inside me, both completely hollow. I knew what he was saying to me, but I didn't want to hear it.

So I focused on the doubt, and of all the people clamoring to doubt me, hearing it from Emmett hurt the most.

"My trainer and my manager don't think so. They have _faith_, a lot more than some, that I'm physically up to the task. It seems to be working out ok so far."

"Does it? Come on E, I know you're smarter than this. Everyone needs time off between fights, especially you. I mean, sure you need to keep training, but you can't get into the ring as often as you have been and not expect it to catch up with you at some stage." His grey eyes darkened, studying me intently, as though he would somehow see the damage already done to my body.

Before he could say anything else, I was saved by the sound of heels echoing purposefully down the corridor. I knew it was Bella before she came around the corner into view. She smiled in relief, my own answering grin pushing insistently to be let loose, impossible while I was still under Emmett's scrutiny. Bella's smile faded the instant she realized who I was talking to.

"Oh, sorry I…" Bella fumbled to recover her expression, eyes looking anywhere but at me.

"Hey there, Bella." I instantly envied the open enthusiasm with which Emmett greeted her.

"I, uh Emmett there's a reporter who wanted to get a quick word with you near the entrance curtain. A spur of the moment, final thoughts before you go on kind of thing."

"I know." His resignation at the idea sat heavily in his voice. There was nothing Emmett hated more than sharing parts of himself with a bunch of strangers. Why Carlisle forced him to do interviews was a mystery. I knew the second Emmett was placed in front of those cameras, the shutters would come down and any trace of personality would be locked away, leaving behind nothing but the stereotypical image of the stoic boxer.

"Of course… just wanted to give you a quick reminder. I just spoke to Alice and she said she saw you come in here. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"No problem, I just need to grab the guys, and my gloves, and we can go wait near the entrance. I'll do the interview and watch whatever's left of Jasper's match from there."

He disappeared back inside his locker room, giving Bella and I a moment together. Still reeling from the post fight turmoil, and Emmett's warnings, I slumped back against my door and turned to Bella. I didn't know what I needed from her, but I knew if anyone would be able to give it, it was her.

Knowing we had seconds before Emmett returned with his ring crew, Bella wasted no time closing the distance between us, settling her hands on my chest, over my heart. She looked up at me, searching my eyes, brow furrowed. I couldn't tell her what I didn't know myself, settling for wrapping my arms around her back and pulling her towards me. Her closeness taking the edge off whatever it was I was feeling. I could sense her concern for me and for the first time I let it wash over me, basking in the care, and… love, behind it. Bella sighed, moving to step away before we were caught like that. I frowned down at her. She paused, raising her fingers to stroke my cheek, laying her palm along the curve of my jaw. I closed my eyes, giving myself over to the feel of her, the tingling of her skin against mine.

I was losing myself to instinct for the second time that night, but for the first time it felt entirely right. I laid my hand over hers, turning my face against her hand and pressing my lips to the warmth of her palm.

Bella leaned into me, her breath hot against my neck, both of us savoring the perfection of that moment.

Emmett's door reopened far too soon and he and his ring crew emerged, Bella jerked out of my embrace instantly, my arms dropped lifelessly to my sides. She threw one apologetic glance my way before following Emmett's crew down the corridor towards the ring.

Emmett had already settled into his game face, making it hard to tell if he had caught us so intimate, so obviously more than merely acquaintances. I was fooling myself if I thought that he hadn't.

He remained outside his door, letting the others go on ahead, under the guise of checking that his gloves were secure, pushing them together to test the positioning of his fingers.

I waited, knowing Emmett wasn't done with me yet. He looked up at me, all trace of his usually neutral expression gone. He considered me with sad eyes, a flash of something I couldn't know, that wasn't mine to witness, and that I was never expecting to see in my strong, self-assured older brother.

"I hope you know what you're doing, little brother."

I had no answer, and didn't even try to give one.

With his game face back in place, Emmett nodded and walked away. Whatever it was that had passed between us seemed more distant, ephemeral, with each step he took away from me.

But one thing was certain; one constant remained when everything else could be doubted, a truth that I was finally beginning to understand.

I didn't know what I was doing.

* * *

**A/N**

**Glossary:**

**Making weight**: Boxers are required to have their weight checked prior to fighting to assure that they are still in their required weight range. Jasper's opponent failed the weigh in, resulting in his match getting canceled and a last minute fill-in opponent taking his place. **  
**

**Number one contender - **This is my understanding of the World Boxing Commission rules on eligibility to be a number one contender. Hopefully it makes sense.

The WBC has a set of rankings for each weight class based on win/loss records, quality of opponents beaten etc. The person at the top of this list is considered to be the number one contender, but that does not necessarily mean that they are guaranteed a shot at the reigning champ right away. A titleholder must defend his title at least once every nine months and as such the WBC has the power to force a titleholder into a match with the number one contender as a mandatory title defense.

It should be noted that boxing managers/promoters are required to get the WBC to sanction a title fight. The WBC has the right to refuse to sanction a match for any number of reasons, if they wish to do so.

**Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this story and those who are reviewing it. It really means a lot to hear from you!**

**Next chapter: Edward's 21st birthday is a real work of art.**


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